Dressing for work in a toothpaste-stained mirror


By. Lori Noto

Today, I dressed you in cotton,

softer than the wool sweater I wore

until the seven-year winter in me ended.

You look


though I am not sure yet

if the cotton suits you.

I’ve become too used to accessorizing you

with other things,

like the aroma of a sick, pungent perfume

or a finger gun jammed

into the holster of your throat.

Forgive me.

Loving what no else seemed to

makes this all too hard.

I only dance as well

as those who taught me how to move,

but I am trying.

Watch as I raise our arms

and spin.