After we had our pick the rest were donated.
I still have your favorite, the leopard print,
just as eloquent as you were.
As summer fades,
and your birthday passes,
I often dream of that box,
In which your richest fabrics resided
now at the Goodwill
not far from where we grew up.
All the vibrant colors being picked over
once again by bargain shoppers.
I stand, pretending not to notice
your collection, a rainbow
of colors vibrantly calling out
for the neck that wore them best,
and to my distress they get torn
one by one from each other
into the carts of strangers
who still have a neck to warm.
Soon nothing is left save an empty box,
much like the one in which you reside.
I watch the patrons buy their, now, things,
and wake to the tickle
of leopard print fabric upon my face.
©stanz
S