The Dress

I wore my party dress and

damn, girl, I looked good.

I shimmered in that dress.

Glowed.

I was magnetic.

I loved that dress.

I loved me in that dress.

I didn’t know any other me than me in that dress so I put it on

again and again.

But in time it faded,

as garments do

when they’re being outgrown.

I started to notice its tatters,

the smell of stale cigarettes and booze.

I woke in it one morning,

hung over and disgusted.

Threw it in the trash.

Stood naked, quietly

for a long time

in front of my wardrobe

deciding now what fit best.