Costume

I am not dressing
today. I will wear your
brown shirt and spill
coffee down its front.
I will leave it on even after this.
Languid, I will rest against the window
and read from
a book of poems by Bukowski.
The sun will wear a fine lace
of cigarette smoke as
it moves through the rooms.
Each and every blink of my eye
will be measured in time.
I will wear
your sullied shirt
and my leg stubble
as silk stockings.

 


Dena Rash Guzman is a poet and civil rights activist living outside Las Vegas, Nevada.