sundress: a burning haibun
“As in contemporary legal practice, were the heroine unchaste, there could be no violation, and rape would have no meaning. Virtue is a necessary precondition to both the definition and the representation of rape.”
—From “Rape, Voyeurism, and the Restoration Stage” by Jean I. Marsden
一：sundress: a burning
mama, the sundress i should have worn at the tail of summer was torn before. by a button in the washer, a twig by the river, or a dog i adored. i felt something. i refused to deem it broken; i refused it to be a dry linen upon which there was no violation to kneel between the legs of a woman. mama, my body wanted to sew itself shut. if only i’d known my body was a prophet, had listened to you when you told me we bit our tongues for an evanescent hunger for meat. did you know, mama, i read it somewhere, neurons in our brains coordinate our jaws & tongues to prevent us from making a meal of ourselves? listen, there are 57 reasons why one would burn their lover. no. 1: i never loved anyone that much i didn’t know how. no. 9: maybe i wouldn’t have if you listened & stopped fighting. no. 23: stop fighting & we’ll have a good time. he tucked me in & left the door open: don’t let no bruises tell on me. at night, i cradled my bruises in shivers that lasted until morning. his laughs when i said no. his last text: who has a problem? he doesn’t remember touching me. mama, i believed him until i believed me. he drove me to the train station in the morning. he kissed my forehead: have a good time, sweetie. i had no hymen left. i hate to count casualties, to savor loss, to puncture things. i hate to have no hymns in me, but mama, god’s people hurt me. no. 33: if i was burning you, why wasn’t i burning, too? no. 57: you didn’t know why you deserved it—that’s why you deserved it. mama, i’m not okay. inside me is a burning twig & my ashen breaths only speak sound when they call your name, mama. i was touched so feverishly my dress was torn, mama. i was mistaken—i almost left. mama, i wanted to be loved.
mama, the sundress i should have worn at the tail of summer was torn before. by a button in the washer, a twig by the river, or a dog i adored. i felt something. i refused to deem it broken; i refused it to be a dry linen upon which there was no violation to kneel between the legs of a woman. mama, my body wanted to sew itself shut. if only i’d known my body was a prophet, had listened to you when you told me we bit our tongues for an evanescent hunger for meat. did you know, mama, i read it somewhere, neurons in our brains coordinate our jaws & tongues to prevent us from making a meal of ourselves? listen, there are 57 reasons why one would burn their lover. no. 1: i never loved anyone that much i didn’t know how. no. 9: maybe i wouldn’t have if you listened & stopped fighting. no. 23: stop fighting & we’ll have a good time. he tucked me in & left the door open: don’t let no bruises tell on me. at night, i cradled my bruises in shivers that lasted until morning. his laughs when i said no. his last text: who has a problem? he doesn’t remember touching me. mama, i believed him until i believed me. he drove me to the train station in the morning. he kissed my forehead: have a good time, sweetie. i had no hymen left. i hate to count casualties, to savor loss, to puncture things. i hate to have no hymns in me, but mama, god’s people hurt me. no. 33: if i was burning you, why wasn’t i burning, too? no. 57: you didn’t know why you deserved it—that’s why you deserved it. mama, i’m not okay. inside me is a burning twig & my ashen breaths only speak sound when they call your name, mama. i was touched so feverishly my dress was torn, mama. i was mistaken—i almost left. mama, i wanted to be loved.
Notes:
“Burning haibun” is a poetry form invented by torrin a. greathouse. It is a prose poem erased/burned down twice to become a haiku, paying homage to the Japanese haibun form. In addition to greathouse’s form, this burning haibun includes a fourth visual section, and the second section is read as a contrapuntal.
Source:
Poetry
(October 2022)
