Wardrobe Mistress
.
I stood in front of the wardrobe
we shared and stared and stared.
.
I had just seen her with overalls down
below her knees, your familiar bare bum
.
tensed. It’s thrusting only previously
seen in awkward twisted mirror-glimpses.
.
Your shirts and tees hung between pink
bright lime, purple, olives, shady greens
.
of twirling gypsy skirts. My bohemian
scarves draped over one of your two suits;
.
70’s-wedding brown and grey work-familiar.
There’s nothing I recognize now. No, no
.
clothing will suit or fit my new body, the
slimmed down me. So I’ll abandon the large
.
wardrobe jammed with memories of lilac picnics,
winter barbecues, summer crocheted maternity
.
smocks… the shirt I hand-made for our first
anniversary and leave the idea of kisses
for it’s new mistress…
.
Frances Macaulay Forde © 2000
Perth Words... exploring possibilities. 
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