The racks bow with the weight of a thousand ghosts
Sequins shed silver scales onto the linoleum
emerging anew as a butterfly.
Leather Jackets age like wine,
Cracking in treasure map patterns,
Collars blackened with rain and cigarette smoke.
A leopard-print blouse bares its teeth at
a row of faded cardigans,
Woolen backs in a tired hunch.
Jerseys glisten,
stiff with the sweat and salt of victory.
Denim unraveling at the ends,
Like unfinished stories.
I drape myself in these discarded glories,
shoulder the leather of a life more dangerous than mine,
button myself into the bones of someone bolder.
A crimson scarf becomes a banner;
a pair of boots, a promise of a promiseland elsewhere.
Before the spotted mirror, I rehearse my metamorphosis—
chin sharpened, shoulders squared,
a stranger’s smile stitched carefully to my mouth.
For a moment, beneath the fluorescent heaven,
I am almost magnificent.