Margaret Miller
Trying on Vivienne Westwood
The salesgirl knew I was only trying it on
And I knew she knew,
But with a grace which un-embarrassed me
She squeezed me into it, and said
Don’t expect it to be comfortable.
And it wasn’t.
But this sleek black velvet jacket
Caught my breath
And I became a sculpture - all shape -
Like a veiled Greek dancer
I once saw, in bronze,
Who’d made me walk both ways around
Her dark and twisting form.
But this jacket made me turn
Myself around:
From every fraction
Of every angle
It was perfect;
It outshone the light,
The way the dizzy pinks and peaches and creams
Of the dancers’ gowns below
Suddenly seem corrected
When the Merry Widow appears
In black, at the top of the stairs.
Page(s) 24
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