Confined

I really wanted it to wear me,
sumptuous fabric, expensive fixings,
 
to make someone want to take me out of it
slowly. I wanted it brocade and black velvet,
 
tight enough so that nobody need guess
at what was underneath. I would wolf-walk
 
into town, past Mrs Entwhistle’s petunias,
and the Chinese news agents, top shelf winking,
 
to the leather clad boys, sharing day old roll-ups,
flicking ashes to the ground, storybooking gum trails.
 
I wanted it to walk me like I was the last woman
in town, who could have her pick of anyone,
 
I wanted my corset to confirm everyone’s fears.
When I found it, I exhumed it from pale tissue bandages,
 
chose it like a sacred body, to carry me into the world,
but it’s hold grew thin, it was not enough to keep me in,
 
so with a birth cry I undid myself, and let it go;
took it off, ran free, so that I could  really grow.

Alison Jones

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Alison Jones  would be pleased to hear them.