Quintessentialist

A homecoming dress
a poor girl’s calling
to wear again and once more,
like the year before

a symbol of her status
among the gentry folk
a weed, a Pleb
of the softest sort

though never kind enough to sway them
those golden God-girls
with shocks of hair so blond
the glossy light looks blinding.

An outcast, an outcast
for now the pleasant girls stay home
to mend their worn gowns, to weave their bonnets
to read by fire, a weighty tome.