Quill & Parchment:What I’m Wearing

What I'm Wearing
by Wilda Morris

If you had waited till winter,
Mother, I could have worn
the forest green pantsuit
you said would look nice
on me, the one you said
I should try on, though
we were shopping for you.
Even in this July heat,
I finger it, remembering.

But you struggled in winter,
poor circulation the enemy
of warmth. Irrational as it is,
I'm glad not to bury you
under snow or frozen soil.
I leave the long-sleeved suit
in the closet for now.
Instead, I swathe my neck
in the scarf you gave me,
its colors crisp as the cookies
you used to bake, perky as you
were in your purple hat.

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