Wardrobe
I am wooden and rectangular
like an upright coffin, skeletons and skins inside
I am of similar depth to hold her body
a tall silhouette, handles aged and fading
I hoard her collections
each piece reminiscent of another time and place
creased hands invite in light each morning
I hardly recognize her anymore
In darkest corner hidden behind colourless clothes
still; the red dress...
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Good luck.
xoxo