fabric store

gut the silk for fish.
in an aisle i wrap myself in future dresses.
have a wedding in the palm of my hand.
let's be brides. let's be firemen.
let's pick out a reem of silk & pretend
we are going to sew a new moon.
sometimes when i slice my finger
ribbons come out. i weave a ceiling.
i use a box cutter to cut out a hole
for my face. we would go to the fabric shop
over the bridge when i was a girl.
i craved the sound of sliced fabric. 
pleating. zipper. i sewed zippers into my skin.
my wrists & my thighs. opened them up
like pencil cases to keep my marbles.
road my bike until the tires were tear ducts.
when you make your clothes you make
your burials. remember me like a pirate.
remember me in a leopard print gown.
folding the future like a bed sheet.
i would ride home with my future measured
by the yard. gravel road. the sun like
a shoe fly pie. at home, my sewing machine 
perched. my little owl. barns in my eyes.
i put down the presser foot. unzipped my flesh
to find pin cushions & pearls. began tracing
the outline of the new body i wanted to sew.
frankenstein's monster of midnight fabric. 
geese out to window cut swatches 
from the sky like pairs of silver scissors.