THE GOWN’S SECRETS
The pale silk gown hangs
in a garment bag in the attic.
On its lace bodice, seven tiny pearls
stitched into each embroidered flower.
Eighteen knife pleats stream
from mid-back to the floor.
See through –
too sensual for a high school prom.
And not my wedding dress.
Our granddaughters will hear
we eloped to Aspen.
Not too fancy or fragile
to wear to bed that night
in the charming old Hotel Jerome.
Stapled to a thin strap –
a ticket from the local cleaners.
Juice from a chocolate-coated strawberry,
a wine spill, or the stain that comes
from a night of love-making.
After all, love has marked us.