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Home » Poetry » Issue 6 » A Dress Called SORRY

A Dress Called SORRY

“The term “widow’s weeds” refers to the black clothing worn (principally) by female widows during the Victorian era, which dictated a strict “etiquette of mourning” that governed both their behaviour and their appearance following the deaths of their husbands.”—From an article titled ‘The Origins and History of Widow’s Weeds’ by Chris Raymond

The colonist force-feeds history
& it throws up new customs.
You wear a dress called Sorry
tailored with the thread of death
blacker than the kettle. Its hem
touches the ankles, ample length
to measure your uprightness
or cover the insufferable truth
of a culture that honours grief
by objectifying the grieving.
It gives: your dignity is glass,
we can see through it. We can
shatter it and scatter the shards
on the path you walk barefooted.
You’ve been told your place —
your head beneath the mountain
into which the sun falls. Still,
you make sunrises out of sunsets.