a summer dress

pale cream cotton lawn, sleeveless, with a coral grosgrain at the waist that you would not now think to put on a dress. small printed daisies, faintly off-register, like a remembered field at noon. the hem hides the only repair: a length of careful running stitch where she stepped on it climbing into a boat.

worn last in a summer that lasted twelve days. there is a faint mark of grass at the back of the skirt, set by the sun. she meant to soak it out and then meant to, and then the summer ended.

the dress hangs at the front of the cupboard under a length of muslin gauze, drawn aside today for inspection. the cedar shelf beneath holds three folded shawls; the cupboard remembers heat that has not visited this house in some years.

field-note: a pressed petal in the side seam — a stem flower, not a daisy. nobody can name it now.