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Why I Didnít Retire Years Ago

People thought I didnít retire
because I loved my career.
It isnít true. I didnít retire
because I loved my clothes,
and had nowhere else
to wear them. To see my blouses,
jackets, pencil skirts, scarves,
and necklaces hanging unused
in my closet is a kind of death;
to give them away
would be a kind of murder.
Their colors, textures, patterns,
and origins contain the ephemera
of my life, like poems that wrote
themselves. They are intimate
with my skin and muscles.
Their myriad combinations
are the great art of the everyday.
When I lose belief, they speak
for the best part of me,
expressing hope or whimsy or strength
that is there in spite of the grim,
colorless content of my mind.
They are organic and dynamic,
defined by folds and wrinkles,
able to stretch in flexibility,
and to withstand abuse and neglect.
My clothes need me, as I need them.

Diane Elayne Dees


If you have any thoughts on this poem, 
Diane Elayne Dees would be pleased to hear them.


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