It doesn't quite fit.
I've put this on,
this newness,
Told myself, "Yes, this is how it should be."
Worn this newness proudly and positively.
Others notice...say,"She looks good...happy."
I do, don't I.
And yet, I am
Twisting it slightly this way and that
Pulling it down to cover this,
Stretching it over to reveal that,
Adjusting the size,
Sucking in,
letting out,
Scratching where it itches.
Something just isn't quite right with it...
Doesn't quite fit.
This new life feels weird on me....
I want to exchange it.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I must have made a mistake.
This does not work on me at all."
I want my old clothes back.
I want the worn-in, faded comfort.
I want the thick, fuzzy "Good morning" and
"Merry Christmas."
I want the henley, the waffle-print "You're cute" and
"How was your day" imprinted on my cheek.
I want the thin, breezy "Let's go for a walk" and
"Wait for me" pale against the tangle of my hair.
I even want the bare nakedness,
The warm, soft "I love you" and
"Goodnight" with a kiss melting on my shoulder.
But I am told there are no returns.
No exchanges.
My old clothes have been pawned off
To others more deserving.
Did I really give them up?
Or did you strip me of them?
I cannot remember, but wish,
Desperately, that I knew whose fault it was
that nothing fits me anymore.
So I leave,
Bringing with me the ill-fitting,
Ill-gotten garments that are all I have left.I
put them on,
Grimace,
but wear them nonetheless...
Walk to my dresser and remove
One shirt I have of yours...
Smells like you...
And breathe it in.
It fits
Even if just inside,
For a moment,
And as an illusion,
It fits.
I put it back.
My brief and fleeting comfort.
Into the drawer of everything else that
Will never fit.
