of the closet. She's the essential
black dress women wear to nightclubs
and funerals. She was folded over

a chair after a night out making the
rounds. Now she's found hung
on a wire. She tires of the moth biting

holes through the weave and the folds. She's
mashed together with pants and sweaters in
a dark cramped space. With no place

for her, maybe an overfilled drawer. Dig her
up under the piles. She still has style. A dusting off
and a quick wash shines her like new, with a pair

red-heeled shoes, a necklace strung of
pearls. Now here's a dynamite girl!