The Gown

Melissa Gutierrez

by your instruction
I have peeled my skin in layers
until white lace peaked out through meat

the wedding gown is already sewn into me
silk threads in patterns on my bones

welded to nerves
connected to that string
you think sits pretty in your pocket

every now and then I feel a
tug
in your voice and the wide swath
of woven strands tighten
my lungs raisin into blue & borrowed bags
under corseted bars

i don’t move much
my head cushioned against the phone
against the wall

you hint
that your suffering will end

once muscle and fat has opened

onto floral patterns and the scalp

falls away for a veil