Within minutes of stepping out my front door
I feel strangers’ eyes and licks of rain
against my legs
and wish I’d worn a longer dress.
Shoulders like earrings
and elbows like a belt,
I pass windy alleyways,
heavily garbed mothers and daughters,
greasy men smoking in front of bars.
I tug at my dress and wonder if it
in insidious increments
over six years.
As posted on LAID