My Father Told Us Stories. . .
My father told us stories every night about strange little ani-
mals that came out in the dark. When my father was away, my
mother read us fairy tales that always ended in marriage.
Sometimes, when I missed my father, I slept under my bed in
mourning and the mice crawled all around me.
I stand at the window of a bridal shop where huge dresses
hang ghostly in the dark. At the back is a collection of veils
like a row of sleeping jellyfish. One whole wall of the shop is
a mass of white cloth. The wedding dresses are enormous.
They are twice as big as me, and ...