The body that has left me

Is labouring in other clothes 

Its hands tugging at other sleeves, 

Seeking other pockets to lock away coins or cards

For I am currently hanging out

In the company of strangers, 

Relatively speaking

Forced to dance or to sway

At a storms whim

Strangers see the shapes of us, and 

Know more about who it is that inhabits us on different days

Or nights, as some of us soft prints on pinkish fibres

Bras the hue of flesh,

The weathered calvin kleins

Are never seen outside,

To watch us closely, our size, our shapes, our social status

At our necessary dance to dry, ghostly 

Is to know love 

The hands that collected, selected, manipulated us

Pinned us here, 

Speak of an ordinary love

Or is there any other kind

Than kinship, family 

And care being taken so we can cover and protect

Who lives here? Who put us out and put us on?

They will wonder and then will see

Unveiling the personal 

Exposed

A display, play

Garments

Presented privately publicly

Impregnated with fresh linen fragrance

Where a briny scent invades 

Product of domestic labour

Labour of love or of lack of choice

The determined role of care bestowed upon the female

See the legs of me turned inside out

To protect me from the sun

Notice

How unnoticed

She has been taking care, 

She always does