The Skirt

It was a summer skirt, full and swirly,
Colorful flowers in a random array
On a pale but bright background,
The kind we used to wear in high school.
"I'd like the skirt," she said to me,
To me, who had somehow been entrusted
To watch over her things.
At first, my mind in tumult, I tried to dissuade her,
Saying it was out of fashion.
But she persisted, and I agreed: of course, the skirt.
And what else?
"I'll need some of my blouses," she said,
Adding, with a laugh:
"What, did you think I wasn't coming back?"
Again, with splinters in my mind, I could only offer
That I thought she had wanted a new start.
For months now, all has been dedicated to
Clearing up all evidence of a life once lived
With the universal regrets and debris
That only a brand new start can erase.
Today I'll seal the contract for a new start,
But we can't all start over, can we?