Red wool died

       Wayward echoes crawl down my spine as the flare
of anger and sadness sit upon my face. Oh here I thought
I emptied all my pockets from slacks and jackets.

      Bummed now that I have one less skirt. Yet my closet
rejoices. I laugh with renewed sense of irony. I stated
as a goal to rid, downsize my closet. I never thought this
would be the way to start.

     Ink stained hands now full of honey and milk. Softly
the scent calms the mood to even more laughter. Now
a slight bit lighter though.

      Ah the simplicity in the act of my imperfect state.
Perhaps no need to plan on gaining a new red wool pencil
skirt just yet.

      So clear the silliness I am grateful to experience.
So here, now, laugh with me as the mood, emotion simmer
down to a layered level of  cracked jokes of the worst
case scenerio vibrate throughout my mind.

        Ah. No. All is good. The laughter of one less piece
decorating hanger and paleness. Sad, still a little, of
the staple piece missing but grateful to finally cleaning
the closet once and for all.

       Yes. Perhaps it is silly to write of a loss of one piece
of clothing, even more so to enhance it by including it
in a poem. Alas that is just me.

       Would you care to disagree?