DRESS

Mum bought a new dress and was happy for a while –

woollen, winter dress, dark blue,

the neckline was shaped like a glass of wine; the dress had embroidery

and a knitted belt and stopped a few inches above her knees; she had

pretty legs, and hands, and hair, and face; she put the dress on and

did a pirouette in front of the mirror; when dad came back from work

and saw her all smiling and happy, his face turned red

– you want men to turn after you on the street, huh?

I heard him saying.

Then the shouting muffled his words; the beating lasted all night; all

night I stayed up in my room, barefoot, frightened, only six, praying

my mum would be alive in the morning.

She was.

I found her on the floor, still wearing the dress, blue mixed with

red; I saw the sadness flowing from her eyes and turning into a puddle;

the marks on her face remained for days; they were the same blue as

the new dress.