Got it cheap at a thrift store,
left by some anonymous patron:
maybe an old woman,
cleaning out a closet,
significance lost to time and a
fine coat of dust?
Or did she suffer the loss when
she passed it, still on a hanger,
to the man at the counter?
Did she falter when he offered
only a smile and a "we'll be happy
to take it off your hands" as condolence,
like he'd be doing a great service,
bargaining off her past.
Then "keep only what you use"
the mantra of some clutter-busting
self-help book drowns out
the fifty-year-old strains of "Sleepwalk"
from a high school prom
and her hand slips from the fabric,
saying "You can have it,
God knows I'll never need it again."