The
day I wore the blouse
both
men who didn’t care for me the day before,
both,
as if reading from the same script, said:
I
didn’t recognize you today.
In
tones of approval.
I
thought: It has something to do with the blouse.
I must
have been dressed in luck, a dark blue.
The
men, attentive now,
they
were the ones who were different.
But I
liked the difference too.
Later,
a group of us went to a party.
The
apartment had a balcony, breezes were soft.
I
began to feel sad about the blouse.
What
was it about the blouse
that
wasn’t about me?
It was
years before I turned thirty.
Should
I simply have been grateful
and
forgotten the day before and all
the
days before the blouse?
What
turns luck, turns words,
never
to know entirely what’s likely or unlikely,
if it
has something to do with the blouse.
-- Lee Upton
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