That Old Dress
Every memory mends itself into this hemline.
Each thread of red silk pulled in the direction that best holds.
Underneath the clean line there is a mess--
made of all the criss-crossing stitches of untold stories.
Every memory mends itself into this hemline.
Each thread of red silk pulled in the direction that best holds.
Underneath the clean line there is a mess--
made of all the criss-crossing stitches of untold stories.