Monday, April 21, 2014
At my bridal shower, someone gave me
a pink see-through nightgown and pink satin
slippers with slender heels and feathers.
The gown had feathers on it, too.
I've always hated my legs and even then,
when I was still thin and in good shape,
I didn't want to wear that nightgown
or slippers, didn't want to parade
in front of you like some pinup.
But I wore them anyway, all those negligees
I got as shower presents, sleazy nylon
I didn't know was tacky. When I wore
sporty nightgowns, I'd leap into bed
not wanting you to notice how
the nightgown revealed what I thought
my biggest flaw. In all the young years
of our marriage, I wore a different nightgown
every night, not that it stayed on for long,
and afterward I'd pull it back on, not wanting
our children to see me naked in our bed.
I felt so sophisticated in those nightgowns,
like the ones Doris Day wore in movies.
Only years later, when my daughter buys me
a nightgown made of soft and smooth blue silk,
do I realize that the first ones I owned
were imitations of this one
I hold now to my cheek, grateful
to have been once so young,
to have loved you in nylon and silk
and in my own incredible skin.
Maria's Official Site is at MariaGillan.com and her books are available at Amazon.com. Her latest publication is the poetry collection, Ancestors' Song .