Issue 10

Winter 2014


Stepping into a Dress Made of Glass

(from an exhibition of glass corsets and dresses by Diana Dias-Leao)

These shaped petals of glass
would clutch your breasts hard,
their wires cut your skin,
burn you in the heat.

Think of the chatter and chink
of ice in winter, the wind’s brass fingers
piercing the gaps.

But those pale roses
bordering its basque,
that fringe of silver reeds of glass –

for these you would step in,
and pull it tight, except

where once there were breasts
there are now rough scars
cross-hatching your chest

like the craquelure
in ancient glass.


Gill McEvoy