The Small Red Dress
The small red dress
(which still smelled like cinnamon)
Lay crumpled
underneath the bed.
It had been there
for three long years
of waiting
(and that's a long time
for a small red dress.)
It had memories
stitched into it.
Old memories.
Sad memories.
Lonely, aching memories.
Like when it
was bought
by a bright-eyed young lady
who was going to a dance.
The dress remembered
when the young lady
saw him
he who she loved
and she smiled.
And the dress remembered
when, a month later
the young lady
came home crying.
And she tore the dress off it's hook
and stuffed it under her bed
and sobbed.
The dress waited.
Patiently.
But the young lady never wore the dress again
for another month passed
and one day
one fateful day
the young lady's body fell to the floor.
A knife was in her throat
and perhaps life was too much to bear.
Blood stained the floor
just as red
as the small dress
that was still
patiently waiting.
The Lost Little Dress
I hung from the rack
In the dark
Smashed between my brethren who
Were tossed into a civil war
Fighting over who would be worn that day
But, I stayed to the side
And grazed your arms
As you walked by
Hoping you would pick me
But instead you
Forgot about me
You left me in the dust
Lost and forgotten
Until you found me one day
But by then, you had grown too big
And you threw me away into the garbage bin
The Bride- Less Wedding Dress
The bride was full of glee,
Her groom was rich you see,
All was earned from money, nary a fee,
But, on the day they were to wed,
"He's missing," someone said.
The bride went crazy, took every
med,
Now, she lay alone in her bed,
The dress still hanging in her closet unworn, call it dead.
Unworn memory
It all happened too quick, like the speed of light. Michelle was diagnosed with acute myelogenous leukemia a few months ago. It was found too late and it was too severe for any kind of treatment. She took the news very well. I, on the other hand took it as a death sentence, for her and for myself. Michelle is my only child and my best friend.
I sit in Michelle's bedroom, I take everything in. I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath in. The smell of beautiful blossoming flowers in spring time approach my senses. Her scent was so effortlessly fresh. My eyes open and start peering around the room. Michelle's means of life are everywhere around this small room. The walls, she painted when she was 10 years old, are a pale yellow. Her comforter set, we just purchased last year for her birthday, was an amazing eye popping turquoise color. Turquoise has been her favorite color since she was a little girl. Thats just the kind of person she was. When she liked something, she held onto it and rarely ever changed her view on it. Besides with food. Every other week she was gung-ho about a new recipe and they all were her "newest favorite."
I notice a corner of a picture underneath her pillow. I grab the picture. I take a glance at it and feel my eyes become blurred with watery tears. They begin falling from my face like a waterfall. I haven't been able to hold myself together for weeks. I feel like I am a pipe leaking. One would think the leak is in my eyes because that's where the water falls from, but it's much deeper than that, it's in my soul. I take a few moments to let the pain out. I wipe my face and take another look at the picture. It's of Michelle,her father, and me at her orchestra concert when she was 13. She is absolutely stunning in the picture. She has a big smile on her face,her dark curly hair pulled back halfway, and her stunning blue eyes looking straight at the camera, as if she knew I'd need this photo one day to be told everything will be okay.
Michelle always looked so gorgeous and so happy. Even on her death bed she held a strong smile upon her face. She is truly my hero.
I look towards her closet. I stand up with weak knees and slowly open the door. I grab the amazingly perfect dress from her closet and begin hugging it. The color of the dress is of course turquoise with beautiful beads hand stitched all the way around it. Once again, tears form in my eyes remembering one of the last things she said to me. "Mom, I'm sorry I made you buy me that expensive prom dress. I really had my best intentions on wearing it." I start hugging the dress tighter at the thought of her saying that. Michelle's prom dress is unworn physically, but mentally it's been worn. It's my last full happy memory with her.
The special dress
It sits in my closet
Awaiting for the day
The day I finally chose to wear it
Not knowing if I should
Or leave it where it remains
The dress I loved
Thinking Id wear it
on my special day
The day we became one
But instead we broke apart
Forgetting about one another
And how you like your coffee
Or on which side of the bed
You would sleep on
Those little things
Slipping from my grasp
That dress was my everything
Now it's only a reminder
Of what could have been
Beautiful is the young girl who listens to her grandmother.
Speaking with the tongue of sorrow,
"the dress, wear the dress for your mother, Em."
The young girl takes it and shows it to her father,
preparing for tomorrow.
He smiles and tells her it's marvelous.
Grinning with a beautiful grin, staring with dainty eyes.
"You're so lovable and pearly like your mother."
He's hugging and holding her and gives a kiss.
He's pretending to be genuine, a disguise.
Her mother was a lovely lady.
Died of something bleak.
She only knew to listen,
only to never speak.
Her mother was a lovely lady.
Died of something cold.
She only knew to hear,
do what is told.
The father poisoned Em's mother.
He was a snake.
The grandmother prepared a speech,
to hide his disgrace.
The dress was her mother's the day she died,
later we learn that Em never really cried.
Her grandmother and father killed her too,
Em never lived,
I lied to you.