Dress

Standard

This dress.

I wore it to my first masquerade

where I, in green, made

an excellent mother earth.

 

This dress.

I wore it to my second masquerade

where I, to my shame, pretended,

played along.

 

This dress.

I wore it to my third masquerade

where I, clever assassin,

made a killing.

 

This dress…

 

There comes a point

when shimmering

folds of fabric

standing sentinel in the closet

cease to be a dress

but a memory. 

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