My mother’s clothes sit in her closet five years after her death
Except for an occasional borrowing to fulfill a timely, special need.
I yet cannot bear to give away that special presence she has left,
Although a fur coat hangs tucked away (looking slightly bereft).
So each evening, I frugally put on night gowns that she once wore,
Wrapping myself in soft, cotton comfort, now extensively darned.
Never mind that I look like an older Orphan Annie slightly forlorn.
No need to spend on robes and dainty nighties no one else ever sees:
I wear Mom’s old socks on winter nights and into her shoes squeeze.
Of course, it’s more than selfish to keep what the needy can use.
But for now, l have tangible reminders of her from which to choose.