Requiem for a Blue Dress
written by: Rebecca Forest
I sit on the couch,
a sleeping cat on my lap.
It yawns, makes me cuddle it more.
The drums don’t stop.
I count the beats,
hoping they’ll miss one before I do.
They strangely match my heart,
and I wonder how an artist from fifty years ago
knew how to measure my body’s rhythm.
He seems to know more about me
than my lovers do.
There is a book I read—
always a book.
I smell its old pages
as it tells stories of my life.
Remember Coetzee’s Pole,
when he exposed my fantasies so bluntly?
Those damn writers know me better
than a husband does.
I look for signs to see the future,
and it’s all blurry.
I’d rather listen to the thunder
and prepare my ricochets
for the bullets you never fired.
Or should I start building a wall?
Because listening to slide guitars
and broken geniuses
makes you rearrange your life options.
And it cuts love
into little pieces
to blow in the wind.
“Run,” says the voice.
“Run home again.”
I look around
to see what is home,
and I can’t.
My cats?
My dogs?
My child?
Or is it you—
the one I reluctantly removed from my head?
I choose the forest and the rain as my home.
Safer shelters than your arms.
Not to mention you’re never here
and will never know my touch.
This is what outliers do.
But hey,
why should I suffer for it?
Cast out from reality,
I open the drawer
and find my old blue dress.
It’s been years since I wore it.
I was someone else back then.
Small.
Weak.
Shy.
Now it’s whiskey,
velvet fingers,
and laughing in the devil’s face.
This dress knows me
more than my fingers do.
I try it on
with trembling hands.
It still fits me.
Unfortunately,
so do you.
You never left.
But I stopped waiting.
No miracles.
Yet,
the morning comes again.
It always does.
And it knows more about me
than you ever did.
Yet, I can still read you.
- Requiem for a Blue Dress - June 20, 2025
