Original Poem: New Dress

New Dress

Rachel Marie Talan

Tissues--

fallen soldiers of love

have surrendered,

their bodies scattered over the floor,

a trail from the bed 

to the bathroom vanity.

Ben and Jerry,

beneath the bedside lamp,

are arguing who

has dibs on the silver lady,

lying at the nightstand’s edge.

The bed’s pillows are 

wrinkled and angry

and the TV has

been on for days, 

mourning the ends of

shows stuck in reruns,

characters never aging.

The walk-in closet

glows yellow

--a bulb about to burn out--

and hangers

are tangled bitterly

over the mouth of a

hungry hamper.

Then the front door clicks.

Footsteps up the stairs.

A box on the bed.

The TV off.

Purse slung

into a chair.

Zzzzzipp.

A look in the mirror

with a sudden smile says:

Nothing heals

a fractured heart

like the touch of

a new dress.