Fat Clothes

Mom told me she was saving them
in case she gained weight again,
proud to hide them away,

to shove them up through the small square hole
in the ceiling;
the attic,
where all the things
we can’t let go of live.

Jeans once worn tight
against a discontent belly,
too big,
too full,
too unlovable.

I watched her mark the boxes
with an aromatic thick permanent marker
‘Fat Clothes’.

I wondered about
expansion,
contraction,
of skin,
of storage.

I knew I’d never have these boxes myself
and that I’d still have to outgrow their contents.

 

 

About the Author: Jennifer Lothrigel is a poet and artist residing in the San Francisco Bay area. Her work has been published in Trivia - Voices of Feminism, Narrative Northeast, Poetry Quarterly, The Tishman Review, Cicatrix Publishing, Five Poetry and elsewhere. Find her online at jenniferlothrigel.com.