Packing the Trunk

I stand in my strapped nightgown,
my body asks for nothing,

makes no complaint.
Silk bathrobe, a blouse of lace.

I am the closet of tangled hangers.
The door swings on one hinge.

I am my cameo, a woman
with no face.

I am my endlessly-turning
bracelets, my strangling pearls.

I could slip down into my trunk
onto soft-folded dresses,

lower the lid
and be done.

--from "My Mother's Poems"