into any of her mother’s dresses.
She’d go in the closet
eye the garments, breathing hot breath on them
like silk
watch the fabric beneath her fingers,
those darn dresses
those darn beautiful dresses.
Zipping up she squeezed
first — her breath then –
her chest
nothing would ever zip.
Once she ate a grape all day only a grape
nothing zipped.
Josephine Rosalie would never fit
into any of those dresses
those darn dresses
those darn beautiful dresses.