It’s just a dress…


The panel white doors slide left and right.

I shut them, and my eyes to the view.

In there is a dance,





day, and the moon.


How it was, and went, like the wind and tide,

spectacular and fleeting.

I love you… I love you…


Here on the other side, safely-detached,

my heart zipped to the top, wisely by choice oblivious.

In a pound, two, ten or more, it should be gone,

the memory, along with her size.

So long… So long…


If I listen to the shuffle of wood hangers,

how they play eloquently like the harp, a sentimental tune,

to the strumming of my fingers, in love–


I will surely die in a memory:

Of pink chiffon (the playful girl);

White linen (crisp on a tan);

Blue, yellow, green cotton (laughing, nurturing, believing);

Black lace (sophistication);

Red satin (seductress).


And I dare try on a pair of my favorite heels, taller in the mirror,

dance in the silence of an abandoned room,

wish to walk under a glimmering night sky, hold your hand,

have your voice land softly like heaven on my heart.

Tears, once beautiful pearls.


Take a picture of her there…remember…

I was… I was…

It is too painful to forget.

Close the door–

Author MariaPisciotta-DellaPorte Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved