Mothballed and hidden away
under layers of dust and must-infused blankets,
in a confined, air-tight space lies
her boxed-up wedding dress
with its hand-made folds of pearl and lace.
But who’s that opening the window?
Letting in the air?
Allowing a lavender breeze to weave its way
through her lonely corridors?
Giving her a sudden shiver?
Who’s that shaking her dress from its secret place,
carrying it into the garden, under open sky,
and pegging it out on the washing line?
She watches silently as it billows, white and magnificent.