THE GOWN'S SECRETS - Musings #81


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.