DRESS CODE > POETRY
Monday
I wear laurels draped drooping over my eyes for shade because the sun rose again; and if I have learned anything in life, it is that I am anything but a god.
On Monday, I dress for the irony.
Tuesday
I draw the fog tight around my shoulders like a shawl hand knit by someone who cared enough to make it, and I care about them too much to say anything about the way it itches and slides off.
On Tuesday, I dress for the memory.
Wednesday
I drip ruby and sapphire in the rain, and who knows where that is coming from, but you have to admire the way I show up sparkling in this light only to be washed down the gutter.
On Wednesday, I dress for the agony.
Thursday
I carry a storm cloud above my head like an umbrella, and when thunder crashes I squint around to discern where all the noise is coming from, but I stopped looking up years ago; I sometimes forget there’s a sky up there at all.
On Thursday, I dress for the futility.
Friday
I wear the sunrise, and those who stare too long will have to blink away my memory, which people have been known to do anyway; even though I am the sun rising over the horizon again and again.
On Friday, I dress for the tenacity.
Weekends
On Saturday, I am worn thin and beloved as a blanket. I rest beyond the weather of the week.
On Sunday, I am pulled close as a coat in a chill. I dress in silence in the dawn to rise sun-kissing the solitude. On these days I dress others in all the warmth I can smolder, content to burn always for the ones whose faces I light. Always I dress for the necessity.
L.M. Cole is a poet, artist and former manager residing in North Carolina. She used to train high schoolers in a wiring factory and now her writing has been published or is forthcoming with The Pinch Journal, The McNeese Review, Stanchion, The Bitchin’ Kitsch and others. For more info visit linktr.ee/lmcole