"le moyen age"

Red spaghetti stain
on her dress
near the waist.
He was
too eager,
rushed to embrace
too soon.
This upset the table,
and the cats,
and now just look
at the state of things.

Well.
It was an old dress,
she had resisted the urge
to buy something new
just for him.

She first wore this black
designer knock-off
the day her mother set out
her father’s remaining clothes
on the bed, preparing them
for their farewell.
Uncles, cousins, brothers, male friends
had already been through the closets,
had left, leaving behind
empty hangars and a few scattered
items. Shirts, coats, pairs of pants.

Now, looking down
at the stain,
it could almost be
someone else’s dress,
it has been
that many years.