Azzedine Alaia Dress Poem by Uriah Hamilton

Drifting aimlessly for weeks
Trying to escape the chain-linked memories of her eyes
And her photograph in the bedroom,
I returned to the cold apartment
On a silent evening, the bird-less dusk,
To realize the emptiness of being someone she couldn’t trust.

She had a thoughtful and gentle heart
But grew up in an entirely different world
With a professional hostess mother
And a penthouse view of downtown Manhattan,
Saturday evening parties with numerous bartenders
And such elegant displays of happiness
Whereas my family struggled to survive
Among the broken concrete of a city in defeat.

I don’t know if my feelings were propelled
By a deep sense of personal inadequacy
Or simply the arrogance of a proud proletariat,
But I always discovered a way
To shamefully mistreat her
With cruel and unwarranted insults.

At dinner with her most cherished friends,
I said something ridiculously unkind
And purposely spilled my red wine
On her Azzedine Alaia dress
Wasting a perfect glass of Malbec
And becoming a perfect ass;
I had to assure myself
A real love couldn’t last.

I should have embraced this jewel of a woman
With delicacy and infinite respect,
But hopefully she’ll meet a more genuine soul
Less dedicated to snobbery and his own sense of superiority
In being downtrodden and poor.

Maybe I’ll learn to accept the innate beauty of humanity
And honor the differences and distinctions that make the world
A unique and lovely place to reside.