The Wardrobe
 

Once she wrapped herself in
a gown of modesty
that clung to her
in all the wrong places
making movement
obscene.

Then she donned
a suit of arrogance
that billowed out behind her
where she couldn’t see it
like the tail of
a cheap blouse.

Next she bound herself
in a straightjacket of grief
that pinned her limbs
and her dreams
like broken butterflies
impaled with silver tears.
 

Later she cloaked herself
in a veil of memory
that swirled and teased
in a capricious twilight waltz
gossamer thin and flighty
like the whirling dervish of time.
 

Finally she stripped down
to the sheer naked of joy
adorned only by a strand
of gleaming pearls of wisdom
that she molded from a lifetime
of disguises.
 

And just as the Master Tailor
had always intended,
her final ensemble
was the most beautiful
and the least costly
of the entire collection.



 

© 2006 Melissa Cross.  All rights reserved.  No part of this piece may be reproduced without the express permission of the author.