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Slip Dress
My mother’s downstairs apartment
hangs like a dress
in her closet
waiting for me
to grow into it.
I sleep in her bed
to become her.
I remember things
she said
about men
and making them happy.
I buy a slip dress
to tease my husband.
I look for her
in my eyes
as I stare
at myself
in the bathroom mirror.
One day I find her
looking back at me.
“Hello,” I say.
“Oh there you are.”
Brook Dougherty 07.23.09
