First, her tippet made of tulle,
\neasily lifted off her shoulders and laid
\non the back of a wooden chair.<\/p>\n
And her bonnet,
\nthe bow undone with a light forward pull.<\/p>\n
Then the long white dress, a more
\ncomplicated matter with mother-of-pearl
\nbuttons down the back,
\nso tiny and numerous that it takes forever
\nbefore my hands can part the fabric,
\nlike a swimmer’s dividing water,
\nand slip inside.<\/p>\n
You will want to know
\nthat she was standing
\nby an open window in an upstairs bedroom,
\nmotionless, a little wide-eyed,
\nlooking out at the orchard below,
\nthe white dress puddled at her feet
\non the wide-board, hardwood floor.<\/p>\n
The complexity of women’s undergarments
\nin nineteenth-century America
\nis not to be waved off,
\nand I proceeded like a polar explorer
\nthrough clips, clasps, and moorings,
\ncatches, straps, and whalebone stays,
\nsailing toward the iceberg of her nakedness.<\/p>\n
Later, I wrote in a notebook
\nit was like riding a swan into the night,
\nbut, of course, I cannot tell you everything –
\nthe way she closed her eyes to the orchard,
\nhow her hair tumbled free of its pins,
\nhow there were sudden dashes
\nwhenever we spoke.<\/p>\n
What I can tell you is
\nit was terribly quiet in Amherst
\nthat Sabbath afternoon,
\nnothing but a carriage passing the house,
\na fly buzzing in a windowpane.<\/p>\n
So I could plainly hear her inhale
\nwhen I undid the very top
\nhook-and-eye fastener of her corset<\/p>\n
and I could hear her sigh when finally it was unloosed,
\nthe way some readers sigh when they realize
\nthat Hope has feathers,
\nthat reason is a plank,
\nthat life is a loaded gun
\nthat looks right at you with a yellow eye.<\/p>\n
Billy Collins <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
First, her tippet made of tulle, easily lifted off her shoulders and laid on the back of a wooden chair. And her bonnet, the bow undone with a light forward pull. Then the long white dress, a more complicated matter … Continue reading