For me there are two types of clothes; the ones I wear to tatters until they are finally assigned to house duty, though invariably I am frequently sighted out and about in them.
Then there are the ones that hang pristine in my wardrobe, kept for that special occasion that doesn't always arrive, or when it does, the aforesaid items seem to be , somehow, no longer suitable.
Recently I have been assessing the viability of my Summer wardrobe, some items dating back to the last century, which is not that hard given the sparsity of Summer in these parts.
One such item is the subject of this poem.
It needs to be consigned to a bin, but, in parting, I feel the urge to pay tribute to my tan linen jacket
You have outgrown me.
My shoulders no longer rising to your girth.
I need to let you go , and so,
Reluctant, I note your rent seam, your frayed collar, your drooping hem.
And remember you in your heyday, matched
with cool cream cotton and twill.
You were my attire of choice
When I last saw him.
A car park rendezvous.
His eyes scan my orbit for something to say.
His averted gaze -a boulder set to stem
the likely rush of downstream flow
Or marram grass, its fibrous roots to bind
the endless shift of sand across time.
Making intermittent the channel between us
Leaving unsaid, things
that might have been said.
Leaving unanswered, questions
that were never asked.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2018