FASHION

Already at 8, Zoe walks the runway

of her double bed.  Hips twisting

and thrusting, while she flirts with me 

through smiling eyes. 

She didn’t learn it from me. 

I didn’t go near runways unless I was stuck 

on an airplane waiting to take off

or paraded dutifully into Synagogue

for our annual high holiday pilgrimage

in the yellow dress my grandmother

knitted for me. Puke Yellow.

Yellow was not my color. And I don’t look

good in puke, but nobody seemed

to notice. I hoped

I could distract them with my smile

but knit dresses clung to my body so tight 

like Erin in fifth grade who kept telling me over and over 

and over that I was her best friend until i thought

I would puke. I shut my mouth tight.

I was wearing a sweater my grandmother

had knit for me and I knew better than

to puke all over it.