a backstroke through my mother's closet

i had to be patient--
wait until my parents had cleared 
the house on a summer thursday morning--
maybe it was fresh & june-- when
everything still seemed like
it was in the process of growing--
front lawn grass unruly as
my thickets of scraggly 
leg hairs & peach stubble came to
haunt my upper lip just like my mother--
i stand at the threshold of her closet--
wild & alone & i start by
swimming in one of her stretchy-- brightly
colored dresses-- the ones she wears
to the newsroom-- i flap my arms like
a lopsided duck & try to pull the 
garment to fit me--
next i let her heels make row boats
of my small feet--
shuffle back & forth at the foot
of her unmade bed-- a child's cat walk--
i find her make up bag & draw hearts
on the backs of my hands in lipstick
before rubbing a patch of my skin
with concealer-- i borrow the face
of one of her dolls waiting in their
boxes in the attic--
i check to see if anyone is watching before
i open the top drawer of her 
dresser-- the one with underwear & bras--
she mostly has boring ones-- grey & nude &
white & black with drooping waste bands--
i hold them up to my waist
to see how close i might be to becoming my
mother-- i swim in her outline-- turn to 
her full length mirror & try to fill it
with my small thick body--
my favorite item of her clothing was 
the lacey bras & another afternoon
i would ask her why people wore
such pretty things as underwear if
only they were going to see it--
she told me that it makes people
feel beautiful on the inside-- i pick
up a red lace one & dangle it from one
strap because it's too big
for me to pretend to wear-- years later
my mother would throw out any frilly underwear i got--
stuff my thongs in the trash can in laundry
room hoping i would think the washing machine
swallowed them-- it takes time to 
try to stop swimming in the mirrors of 
other people-- wipe the lip stick hearts
from the backs of your hands-- 
how many hours did i swim-- back stroke
in brown heels--
in 6th grade kids find a million
reasons to open up each other
like tasty cakes wrappers-- they used
to say i was the girl who's mom had
a beard & that i was going eat myself
until i filled the brims of every floor length
mirror--
nothing has ever hurt more
than hearing other kids make fun
of a body you swam in-- i came up
from air in my parent's empty bed room--
i wondered if i would grow a full beard 
& if when i shaved they would all 
still know--
i felt so breakable as i laid looking
up at my mother's mauve ceiling--
one brown heel & floating on the
flower print tunic 
dripping from my body--