this was from the Valentines Day space we never did. I remembered it today as I found wedding dresses while going through my storage cupboard…
‘an op-shop of wedding dresses’
[the collective noun for the ghosts of dreams failed]
hand-sewn with promises
and embroidered with unrealistic expectations
vows that came dressed in virginal white,
now indelibly stained with wine and sweat
betrayal and disappointment
failure and pain.
floor length hems and six-foot trains,
held up to protect against the world’s unwashed floor,
until they got too heavy to carry,
and now marked with grime and dirt.
the safety pin that holds the sleeve in place;
after all, it only has to make it through one night.