Monday, May 14, 2012

Resale Shop: Sequin

Sometimes I feel like 
the last remaining sequin 
on a well-worn party dress, 
hanging by a thread, 
the little bead anchoring me 
holding on for dear life, 
for fear we'll go hurtling 
through space to land, 
lost forever, in that black hole 
that is a crack in the floor, 
the tuft of a carpet.

Bereft of our sparkle, 
our jobs lost in the memories 
of gay, happy girls 
who danced and laughed. 
We sparkled along with them
then were relegated 
to the back of the closet.
Luster faded as, in the dark,
one by one, sequins and beads 
broke away and, like dreams,
fell into the dust on the floor.

Still, one last sequin and its bead,
retain some sparkle, a glint that shines, 
a hope of emerging from the dark 
to dance, one more time
 and to enjoy the smiles 
of a handsome, laughing man.  

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