ode to my 100-yr-old capelet

my 100 yr old capelet is back from the cleaner
it still smells strange
when it first arrived, it bore a note that says it's over 100 years old
now it is beautifully pressed with a healthy sheen
embossed velvet, like deep black on charcoal in floral or fruit motifs
if i wave to you or smoke, you would glimpse the lining
which is fuschia, like something unexpected out of darkness
an insignificant sign is the most unforgettable
like the story where the kid would be granted 3 wishes if he could forget the red of a red fox's tail, he gave his word without a thought but tried as he might, he was in pain as he could not get the red out of his head
the boy did not get his 3 wishes
i dreamt about the capelet twice before it arrived

it is so sad to mostly dream about losing your cats
your dreams are about your fears

perhaps it has travelled like the red violin
once it was someone's favourite capelet
perhaps it was stashed away and forgotten

now the girl who wears it feels like a mad princess or countess

spinning personal fiction