Silver Dress

I’ve written about all the others

at least once, but never you,

and I don’t know why

we were like magnets at the start,

the pull between us

the way you shifted your costumed weight

against me in the glow dark of my truck

and I don’t know why

everything starts beautiful and strong

and then slowly disintegrates

and I don’t know why

I felt so much older with you

felt like a man for the first time

and I guess I do know why on that one

lazy afternoons rolled in sheets

take off your glasses but

always hush, hush now

and I don’t know why

you told me my asthma meds

were drugs, and I laughed,

and I don’t know why

after I would drop you off and see you inside,

I would sit in my car silent and just process you

the evening with you

figuring out how my memory would taste

your image twenty-five years down the road

and I don’t know why

you are sepia-toned now

when silver will always be your color

same as the dress you wore

when I nervously placed your corsage

with a sharp pin just above your breast

and I don’t know why

I could see that wires got crossed in you

the tumble of generation and names within you

but I don’t know why

the last time I saw you, I was poisoned;

you brought me soup, in that same silver dress

and I don’t know why

we couldn’t cleave despite our magnets

and I don’t know why

everything starts, beautiful and strong,

then slowly disintegrates

and I don’t know why.

Reviews

[R.E. Ray]

JR, I think this poem speaks to the naivety of youth (and thank God for that, or we'd be cynics for life). When we're first in love, we work hard to make everything perfect, including looking beyond differences that later polarize us. We become the opposite of magnets and repel the other. Sometimes by chance or just determination, we make it work. Regardless, I think these experiences make us grow, and eventually lead us to a better place and compatible mates. Maybe I'm still a little optimistic at 52.

I think you've expressed well in this poem what streams through our minds, especially when we see certain things (e.g. colors) or hear a specific song. We're reminded of the extremes, the best and worst times. Both make up who we are, and that's what I read in this poem.

[JR]

Thanks R.E., that exactly what I intended. Experience does indeed make us grow.