I Wonder I Wonder What Manner of Man

How odd to find one of life’s most beautiful treasures in the middle of a smelly store poked with an odious orange sale sticker.  A plastic hanger. Yellowed. Stained. Sad wrinkles.
 Dreams on sale.
But why did it call to me so? Why on this day?

Perhaps because the day brought news. Perhaps because the day brought more than I could handle. Perhaps because when days bring news I can’t handle, I write. And sometimes before I write I go seeking inspiration.

The dress drew it out.



So I put it on.

She flew doves in her apron and stars in her hair
Butterfly wings took up residence there
And symbols and jigs dancing round in her head
Music and words that nobody said

And what of this lass who shed all of her lace
To hang in a bargain shop filed out of place
And wait for the girl who needed not to try on
A frock 

meant for memories sure to go wrong

The gown needed rescuing, brought back to life
Yellowed and hanging alone without wife
Or husband
Or preacher
Or bouquet of mums
And nothing to scatter its ashes to bones

But try on she did in the small yellow room
And watched as woman turned into a bloom
For a moment of memory locked in her brain
Whistling moonbeams and thunderstorm pain

Passions
oh passions
of love
just
the

same

She smothered the ruffles
Smelled through the torn shell
And wondered what manner of woman
Was veiled

Ran silk in her fingers
And fathomed the make
and the mark
Of the man
Who would feel her skin quake
At the sound of the gown
Falling soft to the floor

Stepping out
Stepping
O
U
T
to reveal him once more

come kiss my eyes
leave a smoldering glance
As your fire brews a liquid laced
Memory dance

I wonder I wonder what manner of man
Would see fit to tickle the heart of my hand
And choose to walk blindly down pencil skirt paths
And whisper to me under lace veils and hats

I see him so clearly I do ‘neath the shield
That my heart just so recently chose to reveal
And I laid it bare open for him to behold
Keeping star gems and comets myself to unfold

So she smiled a great smile 
in the billow of dreams
Then ripped open the back
with its creases and seams

Filled mightily high of lost weddings and such
For to her it froze time into promises
much

More  

than love
On a bed

of unwedded design

For the gown and the girl are not meant to entwine

Lest they falter fortissimo tumbling to be
A separate
You
A separate
Me

Will she marry him
do
Will she marry him
don't
She’ll marry for love
Or marry
She

won't

Photography credit: Mimi LenoxI'll just be here under my Easter bonnet, embarking on another adventure during Easter vacation.
I will be back Monday May 2, 2011. In the meantime enjoy Poetry Week on Mimi Writes.