I like it when my clothes are baggy
When there are obvious gaps to fill
And they sit lower on my body
I like it when you don’t know my size
A frame engulfed in cloth
Clothes strung upon the washing line
I like it when the wind is crisp but calm
No curves emerge in stillness
Solidly draped in place
I like it when the laundry is ordered
And choices do not overwhelm me
Consumed by cotton and polyester
I like my clothes inconspicuous
No one can see how tiny I’ve become
A hollowness buried beneath the washing pile
Aspen Berry
Christchurch, NZ
