Saturday, March 3, 2018

Final Fitting (Day 409)














During the final fitting 
she let the gown slip 
to the floor, revealing 
somewhat more than 
the freckles on her 
broad swimmer’s back.
So typically bold of her, 
whispered the women 
behind the door—
seldom practical and 
not very controlled, 
always seems to be 
missing an essential 
part of the general idea.
Later, she told me she 
agreed, until I reminded 
her of the-dinner-party-
of-the-bare-shoulders,
where that late-summer 
evening cast a watery 
glow, the perfect backdrop 
for her peridot-green silk, 
the exact shade of greed, 
mossy and golden as 
drafty castle ruins on 
a rumpled Irish cliff.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six