The Tattered Dress
Atlantic, The, June, 2005 by Ellen Bryant Voigt
The day the royal court came through our village— many drums and flutes, grandfather monkeys with faces like fists and jewels the size of fists, each elephant its own tree of blossoms, a tiger on a leash, a pair of peacocks—
the old Emperor did not choose me: he chose my delicate sister. Our poor family shrieked and clapped and pulled their hair, thinking, plenty rice each year. And what does she think, in the Emperor's lap, inside the palace walls? ...