My grandmother kept her wedding dress in
a hope chest at the foot of the bed
Granddad left her years before
The crinoline still spills with expectancy when the lid is lifted
I’ve paid for another seminar about uncovering your career path
The young woman takes her seat
a rare combination of flounce and deep curtsy
periwinkle feathers on her bell sleeves caught in the draft of this
plunge
She talks of passion and skill and hustle
It has recently been revealed to me that good girls
who work hard and play nice
make excellent worker bees
and even better fools
And I’ve spent a lifetime folding
the body of my dreams,
limb by limb, out of sight
trading smashed fingers for safety
Is it too late for women of a certain age
to claim feathers and flounce?
Can we unfold our dreams
lay them out across the bed
and let them breathe?
