an evening jacket

black silk faille with a shawl collar of the same silk but rolled, so that one face is matte and one is liquid. a single satin-covered button at the waist. it has been pressed so often that the fabric now resists the iron politely, like an old guest who declines a second drink.

worn last at a long evening in a hotel that no longer exists. there is a faint mark of wax on the inside cuff, from a candle that tipped. she did not change for the rest of the evening. the painting of that evening hangs in another room and gets the colour wrong.

the jacket lives in the dusk cupboard on the upper landing, with a string of pearls coiled at its feet. the silk gives off a faint, dignified scent of cedar and a perfume that is no longer made.

field-note: a sequin loose in the lining, the only flash of light still inside the cupboard.