<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=511471" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Odd Hats, Summer Dresses</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Old summer hats lie on the floor, <br>funeral hats, hats in hat boxes, <br>some still on hat stands<br>and one left discarded on a chair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her summer dresses, still fragrant<br>from perfumes she wore, <br>hang limply now, on hangers<br>as though they are waiting for her.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I view her dressing table, its little pots, <br>one for her wedding rings, <br>one for her broaches, <br>and one for her powder puff.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her chair's empty but askew<br>as though she'd just gotten up.<br>Strange to see it like that<br>and look into the mirror above.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A mirror that should reflect her, <br>her, with her lips all pursed <br>waiting for their lipstick, <br>red or pink and then a smile.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here's her broken watch; I hold it, <br>put it on my wrist <br>hoping its band is still <br>warm from her skin but it's not.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Desperate, I try to mend it, <br>I shake it, fiddle with it.<br>Somehow, if I could just make it tick, <br>but she's gone and the watch is broken</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ruth+Walters">Ruth Walters</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=511471" data-title="Odd Hats, Summer Dresses de Ruth Walters" data-description="Old summer hats lie on the floor, funeral hats, hats in hat boxes, some still on hat stands and one left discarded on a chair. Her summer dresses, still fragrant from perfumes she wore, hang limply now, on hangers as though they are waiting fo..."></div> </div> </div>

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