Closet Scrapbook

      In my closet there are clothes
      no longer worn - my yesterdays
      hanging out of sight. When I
      open the door, they come
      rushing back to mind, memories
      most dear.

      That dress--heavens! I was
      that shape once. Summer days
      were long, skirts swirled
      around my legs as we danced
      on the grass, smiling as if
      we would never stop - and time
      would never pass.

      Those slacks - the pockets sag
      pulling the lines awry. It was not
      gold that weighed them down, but
      the lovely stones found
      here and there. They remind me
      that I picked up feathers, fallen leaves
      and golden grasses and wove them
      in my then-brown hair.

      And that paint-smeared, ragged shirt
      in which I spent days, months, years,
      paint brush in hand, sun on my neck,
      protecting my boat-home
      from the ravages of sun and sand
      and time.

      Why did I not find a way
      to protect myself as well?

Copyright © 2001 by Jessica Macbeth.
All rights reserved.

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