Dress Made of Mice

Poetry. A long time ago, when I was real, I tried on A DRESS MADE OF MICE. It is a dress covered in a thin layer of fur so ancient and alive, slipping into it casts a spell on dear reader, turned my one heart into three: gave me a ghost heart, an animal heart, and kept my own heart true. Erotic, and dangerous, and strange, this dress leaves behind the scent of fossil and fable, ‘its thousands skins fluttering ghost gray.’ When I slipped it off, I swear I heard it say: ‘Come back from the dead and write one more thing.’ Its ‘teeth left a perfect circle on my thigh.’ I don’t know where Messer gets her golden needles, or how she has stitched such a cloak of kindness and weep and tremble. I dare you to find out. I dare you to try it on.–Sabrina Orah Mark