Still there

The zipper stopped

halfway up.

The fabric pulled tight

across my ribs,

made a small crease

in the skin.

Five years ago

I fit inside this dress

like a secret.

Now I fit inside it

like an apology.

I could have taken it off.

Should have.

But I stood there

facing the mirror,

facing the person

who was almost me,

the dress holding her

in a shape she no longer

makes.

I kept it on longer than

made sense.

Kept adjusting the neckline,

kept turning sideways,

kept looking for the angle

where I still belonged.

The dress didn't change.

Only I did.

I took it off eventually.

Hung it back

in the dark of the closet,

where the body I was

stays frozen.