Seven Dresses

(bendir and tbal drums approaching, trumpets, a crowd gathering)
Hear that? Down the alley —
drums coming with my future.
Open every window, neighbors:
seven dresses, one yes.

The zaffa turned onto our street
with trumpets and with fire,
the neighbors filled the doorways,
grandmothers came out dancing.
They carried her on the amariya
above the clapping crowd,
and my knees forgot their manners
in front of everybody. Proud.

Every caftan she comes out in
tells a season of our story —
green for the years of patience,
gold for tonight.

Seven dresses, one yes,
drums from door to door.
She wore the whole sky tonight —
and guess who she wore them for.

Emerald first, then royal purple,
then the takchita stitched with dawn.
Each time she changed, the drummers doubled,
each time, the youyou climbed.
By the fifth I lost my language,
by the seventh, I forgot my name.

Seven dresses, one yes,
drums from door to door.
She wore the whole sky tonight —
and guess who she wore them for.

(tbal and bendir trade with the trumpets, handclaps swirl)

The seventh was her mother's,
unfolded from a cedar chest,
let out here, taken in there,
smelling of thirty saved Decembers.
Her mother whispered, "It fits."
The courtyard went quiet, then loud.

(every doorway sings, trumpets high)
Seven dresses, one yes, (one yes!)
drums from door to door.
She wore the whole sky tonight — (the whole sky!)
and guess who she wore them for.

(drums fading down the street, one last youyou)
Keep the seventh in the cedar, habibti —
our daughter will need it someday.