Ruth's Best

This is a short poem based on the name of a color swatch; Ruth's Best. It was dark, faded cranberry.

Ruth's Best, laid out on the bed, all vintage lace and yellowed pearls

Ruth's best, all faded and fading, floral prints that Nobody wears

anymore

Ruth's skin, sallow and white,

And lined with the worries of too many years

Ruth's hair, used to be thick, auburn, voluptuous,

And is now thinning, and gray, and pulled back with clasps

Ruth's locket, old rose gold,

Now faded to bronze and tarnish

Filled with a photo of she and Him,

When they were young and beautiful

Ruth's Victrola

that she could never let go of

Warbles cherubic choirs

And deep, throaty soul

From atop her vanity with a broken mirror

Ruth pulls on her faded best

and beige pumps that rub her heels

But make her feel

Like dancing

Ruth sings softly in an

old cracked voice,

Arms wide in an embrace

Feet shuffling to the rhythms of

the Greats

Her breath catches as she catches

the scent, of chewing tobacco

and that Certain Cologne

of Him

as she dances

The world fades away,

as she cradles his blazer

and remembers

Remembers

Remembers

As her eyes close

And her breath fades

Away

to

Nothing.