It hangs forgotten, cast aside
for frillier frocks, hastily set aside
because lace becons. Pink
matches the stars in your eyes,
satin flatters the silhouette.
Still, the ruffles wear you.

The old suit you wear
instead, grass-stained edges
inviting you to be yourself
once more,
its pockets carry change
and the shape of your hands
still holding a universe
you have forgotten
but trusted the old suit
to keep safe.

You don it once again,
hands slip inside pockets
remembering that
your hands
could carry much.

01/13/2013

Posted on 01/13/2013
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