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And Words Are All I Have

Second Hand

It was lilac and it seemed to me then
if there was a dream
it would look like this.

The color was paler than lavender. A first cousin.
Two pieces, a matching dress and belted coat.
Swiss dot it was called then.

Gossamer. Lighter even than air.
I would run my hand over its pebbled surfaces,
holding it fast
so it wouldn't float up and away.

It came, miraculously,
from the bottom of the 25-cent bin in Jackson’s Department Store,
crumpled there into a nondescript bundle
held together untidily by elastics.

When I loosened the ties,
the ensemble sprang abundantly to life:
A jack in the box,
As if I'd added water to a dormant elixir.

I was hesitant to wear it at first,
for fear I would sully it.
But when I could wait no longer
I gathered up its gauzy folds one piece at a time
and let them float down over my head,
securing the belt around my waist.

Its weightlessness felt like armor,
this sheath of seeming nothingness,
now a force field against anything bad.
Anything bad at all.

~~ Tricia McCallum





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