The Dress

Of all the things to do,

I needed to choose a dress.

Classic, black.

I didn’t even question if Mum would have wanted colour.

Black. Sombre. Smart.

“Don’t go buying anything new” her husband said,

“Your mother has a wardrobe full of clothes you can wear”

Did he really think I would wear one of my dead mothers dresses, to her funeral?

Is that what he thought Mum would want?

Perhaps she would have been flattered,

She might have rolled her eyes at him,

“I put £30 in your account”,

A whisper, a text,

Mum would get it.

‘Buy something new’

Of course, I found something on Vinted,

A cotton shirt dress,

Knee length, midnight black, small buttoned,

Long sleeves, puffed out on the shoulder,

Like stiff black begonias,

Almost too much,

Who was there to care,

I nearly can’t remember what shoes I wore.

Boots? You need to feel like yourself Chloe said,

It hadn’t occurred to me. I was ready for the pretence,

Playing at being the daughter of someone whose mother had just died.

Ready to step out of the role.

Sandals!

The black sandals, with cork, mock brikenstock soles,

Worn three times

and then broke, playing football, twice

They are still waiting to be binned,

I only need to do that once.

Finally.

Finality.

Final.

Never.

Ever.

Words, hanging in the air, thick and damp.

Always.

Forever.

Gone.

It was a hot day, the first sunny day in months.

I was glad I chose cotton,

Happy with the silhouette.

Mums friends asked if they should wear black or colour,

I said classic but a pop of colour would be nice.

I don’t know why I didn’t think before.

But it felt like I was doing all the thinking,

I hope I didn’t let you down Mum,

I hope it was ok.

The service was beautiful,

The reverend, Jez, as you said,

Spoke as if he knew you.

Was it true that he was an ex-con?

I don’t know why, but I liked that face and told people at the funeral.

I did the order of service, paid for the food, the deposit to the funeral,

Selected the poems, the songs,

I hope it was ok mum.

Although I think really you chose the songs.

It has been a few weeks now.

Five turbulent weeks have passed since we lay you to rest.

Dennis sprinkled your ashes on his own.

I wished I could have been there,

But he talked me out of it, what with the house move collapsing,

Sucking our world into it,

Rerouting us,

Again,

Again,

The change is too much, the uncertainty unbearable.

I feel like I have a propeller on my head and lead in my feet,

Torn, whirling and immobile,

A tethered hellicopter,

Blowing everything away,

Will I become untethered? I don’t know

I keep looking at the beautiful dress,

knowing I will never wear it again,

Perhaps maybe when Dennis passes,

He wouldn’t appreciate me buying a new dress,

But I’m sure you did.