Summer, 1966

When the paper dress arrived in the mail, I stared at its bold pattern.

Cellulose fabric, funky blue with huge pink splotches and neon green lines. 

It was happy, this paper square in cellophane. Silly, uplifting for a bit.

Paper that didn't depress- a departure from the angry black and white words that arrive daily.

More people are heading to Vietnam. There'll be 250,000 total.

Planes are being shot down. Words like 'besiege' fill the news.

So I unfold an a-line dress, gently shake it out, and slither myself inside. 

My feet slide into a bright pair of Sun Shimmers, and I can't help but twirl.

Whirling in front of a door mirror and imprinting a circle into the shag carpet.

I spin to spiral away from words like 'foreign relations' and 'martial law.'

Waist-length brown hair swinging around like a chaotic car wash brush.

Stop. The colors, the words, the textures, stop, and I breathe.  

A paper dress is fleeting and so too is my escape. 

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