more closet poetry

Closet full of
old clothes and the
fabric hangs like
empty skin -
a wool sweater holds
the shape of 1998
while 2001 is a black
perfume-laced cocktail dress,
a cigarette burn in silk.
Some flat-footed summer of 1997
is birkenstock sandals,
too-small shorts and cotton T’s.
Northern BC is a corduroy jacket
with a poem folded in the pocket.
And she is a pair of jeans
with threadbare thighs.