No.
You will not wake up one, or two, or even three months down the line and find
these slip across new hips you’ve slimmed your vital inches off
like skimming all the richness from atop a broth.
Your legs will still demand to stride, unbound by cones of cloth somebody else misjudged,
that slit you never found the time to split will stay uncut
(small price to pay to vet a silhouette of water butt)
Those gold buttons that tried to hide the curving truth of your subversion in one straight line -an A-line -
will refuse to fasten still.
Shimmering, undone.
All that glitters is not gold…not all medals can be won.
I know they say they’re in your size. They lied.
Let them walk the streets on someone else’s forms, gather some of life’s inevitable stains
the ungathered reins of your wild style never took kindly to a tethering.
These are not skirts to climb trees in, to flit across the windswept coves, to withstand any degree of weathering.
Though they gleamed at you in shades of treasure, so divinely…these sapphire and ruby corduroys
in your case -your suitcase- it transpires that they were best left sunk.
You are no fool.
Release them from their chest (of-drawers) and let them see the light.
The darkness is no place for jewels.