The Paint-Splattered Dress
by Ellen Huang
i unfold the dress like paper cards
lighter than skirts, it feels like a ghost sheet.
i possess it, give the paint-splattered dress warmth
from my body, rather than the other way around.
i change. i twirl. i feel myself lift. i feel myself
as if in a more flowing hospital gown. “this is your new thing,”
the package had said. mmm if they only knew.
later, i linger on the floor outside the wardrobe
in silence, reaching up to feel the dress
between my fingertips, a thin, thin message,
an inked, paper airplane letter to the world:
i am proud, i am whole, i am blessed in magic, i am ace
i float, dressed in meaning
only the awoken can see.
Ellen Huang (she/her) is an ace writer of fairy tales with a BA in Writing + Theatre from Point Loma Nazarene University. She reads for Whale Road Review and has pieces published in miniskirt magazine, Serendipity Lit, Tealight Press, From the Farther Trees, Aze Journal, Kissing Dynamite, Necro Magazine, Mochi Magazine, and more. She lives in San Diego with her pan roommate. Follow her fantasy-inspired blog worrydollsandfloatinglights.wordpress.com and Twitter @nocturnalxlight