On the Sad­ness of Wed­ding Dresses

The Iowa Review - - FRONT PAGE -

On star­less, wind­less nights like this I imag­ine I can hear the wed­ding dresses Weep­ing in their clos­ets, Lu­mi­nes­cent with hope­less long­ing, Like hol­low an­gels. They know they will never be worn again. Who wants them now, After their one heroic day in the lime­light? Yet they glow with de­sire In the dark­ness of clos­ets. A few lucky wed­ding dresses Get worn by daugh­ters—just once more, Then back to the closet. Most turn yel­low over time, Yel­low from pray­ing For the moths to come And carry them into the sky. Where is your mother’s wed­ding dress, What closet? Where is your grand­mother’s wed­ding dress? What, gone? Even­tu­ally they all dis­ap­pear, Who knows where. Imag­ine a dump with a wed­ding dress on it. I saw one wed­ding dress, hope­ful at Good­will. But what sad story brought it there, And what sad story will take it away? Some­where a closet is wait­ing for it. The luck­i­est wed­ding dresses Are those of wives Be­trayed by their hus­bands A week after the wed­ding. They are flung out­side the dou­ble-wide,

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