Thirteenfold Reflection in the Bridal Mirror

 Shawn Galligan, ‘26

In reference to a painting by Gustave Courbet, c. 1850-1855, referred to alternatively as

“Preparation of the Dead Girl”, “Dressing the Bride”, or some combination of those titles.

Written after Wallace Stevens.

I

Thirteen women occupy the room

Shadow that resists the morning light,

Grey as a muddy river,

But dry like summer stone

The women do not look back

They know there is work to be done

II

The bride is an object of reverence

Intimacy of hand against delicate fiber

Intimacy in the moving of foot to bath

III

The singing is low and mournful until word comes

The bride is after all only in repose, smiling delicate into her mirror

Take her out of this silly black dress

IV

Put her fragile body into the steel machine

Look closer

Can you see her undressed, yet?

Look again

V

Make the body a discourse

The arms of a loving husband,

Or the embrace of the loving earth

The finite marriage,

Or the eternity of what comes after

VI

Fix my hair and prepare to leave

Fuss over my clothes and try to interpret what is proper

Wonder about the difference between appropriate and acceptable

And consider the hand of God which once corrected the bride

VII

I don’t really believe in marriage

Oh, well, why not?

It’s just another arm of the state

Oh, alright. Well I think it’s quite lovely.

(But maybe that is only the idealist talking and

maybe the bride would have agreed with him)

VIII

I know funerals,

I have seen the preparation and culmination

But I don’t really know weddings

I would make a poor attendant

IX

Her most private moment endures forever in frame

So that a child might later marvel at the resilience

What curiosity! Observe what has been done to her!

X

I’ve been in places where people sing sadly

I’ve witnessed celebrations most somber

Must the bride be living, for the wedding to proceed?

XI

Imagine what’s next -

Shepherd her to the place

Where the visitors will bear witness

A holy man must be present

To oversee her transition

When the day is over, consider

The work of the attendants

The rouge laid atop the pallor of her face

The white dress made to fit over her skin

XII

La femme mort

Les filles peuvent faire les travaillés

La robe blanc, le jour noir

XIII

By harsh light from the ceiling, read from a placard

Learn, if you haven’t already, of her desecration

If this is your first time with her,

Know that it will not be your last.