It might have mattered

A few roses were blooming
on the almost bare trellis.
Your hair was now short.
I had never seen you that way.

All morning I’d wondered
whether to wear this
or that skirt.
It might have mattered.

It was strange to see you
in a new house
shining as you sat
in a necklace of raw flowers.

And when later in the café
you were so quick to flare
at any casual thing I said
I saw how you must have flashed
for all your lovers.

[Maureen N. McLane, 'Song of the Last Meeting', from World Enough]