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?
