Torn: a photograph  

Your accusatory wedding gown lurks in my closet
calling up my loser’s excuses, my shadow justification
for the death of it all.        

Our last time together my accidental striped shirt
accused you in turn, volleying back my pain when
the final chance was jaggedly torn asunder.  

Your abandoned image in a photograph, held
in a trembling hand, seen with vacant eyes,
reaching back for an autographed memory…  

Are you offering someone new your grudging affection?
Or did you lose your feminine path like a child’s lunch
left on the bus?             I wish I knew.