4 White dresses - Poem

Cross Currents, Fall, 2002 by Mary Zaboglio Donovan

4 WHITE DRESSES. (Poetry)

MARY ZABOGLIO DONOVAN

If we are lucky,
there will be 4-
my first was baptism,
a time of water
and being named.
My mother put me in
cotton eyelet and seed pearls.

Soon, my pink tongue
sticking out, at First Communion,
I was wrapped in lace
and wore a veil my grandmother
made for me.
"Look, her cheeks are like
apple blossoms," someone said.

The best was the wedding dress.
Mine was ivory satin.
How was I to know
as I walked on Daddy's arm
that a white shroud was
waiting for me later.
And a requiem.

If a woman takes her
sparkling diamonds off,
she can shed light
from the center of her palms
on a child
or on a city.

If a woman puts her
feet in the brown mud
she can stretch into
the sky
Blessed Mary, Salve Regina,
her hair is white now
like my wedding veil.

Spinning the color wheel
she becomes dizzy
like dervishes turning around and around.
We are bright lights.
Black is gone.
Fashion is a blur.
Only the soul,
a memory
of white,
is left.

Mary Zaboglio Donovan is a writer who lives in New York City with her two daughters. She is finishing her thesis in architecture this year.