The unworn long gown, meant for dances
She would have scarcely dared attend,
Is fobbed off on a friend—
Who can’t help wondering if it’s spoiled
But thinks, well, she can take her chances.
Like failed securities, or old plans,
We count the new spoons in their case
Then lay them back. One lace
Nightthing lies in the chest, unsoiled
By wear, untouched by human hands.
Already have an account? Log in
Join KR for even more to read.
Sign up for a free account and read any five pieces a month.