Together we make a dress. This has taken us, so far, five years. For just one simple dress. Something to wear. First there’s the problem of the pattern. We need to agree on that. Then there’s getting the sewing kit together. You have the scissors and thread. But I’m the one who’s supposed to supply the fabric. That was our deal. Every day I come in with something different. Something from outside. Something slick or something rough, something flowered or sequined or shiny, something to hide my hands in, something like absolute stillness. You get your scissors out and go to work. I watch you cutting into absolute stillness. Tiny little sections. I admire your work. Sewing the buttons on. This is the dress they’ll bury me in. We made it. You’ll say we worked on it together, but it was already made.