New Clothes
Whenever my mother buys me new clothes she is very excited about them
Questions me on why I will not wear them
“Why are you dressed like this, haven’t I bought you new clothes?”
I don’t like new clothes; they don’t fit my body as the old ones do.
They don’t have the smell of my favorite washing soap or the wrinkles that come with being tossed in my wardrobe.
When I do wear them, I am unsure about them
Ill-fitting clothes; too big or too tight or not long enough.
Mother likes them; perhaps it is the freshness in their colors, maybe it’s the way they sit on my body.
Years will go by and mother will grow less fond of my “new clothes”
Will you grow less fond of me too?
When my colors are no longer vibrant and I do not smell as new clothes do?
When I am threadbare and hole-ridden from moths and constant use, will your excitement for me dim too?
Or will I take on the new smell of mothballs, the scent that comes with being abandoned in an old box, abandoned somewhere in the crevice of your mind?
