Loose Garments

Loose Garments
I was standing naked in toilet.
Only if you call a structure
Made of old sarees
And buried wooden bars
A toilet.
There's a garment
Hanging from the curtain door
For me to wear once I shower.
Green, old-fashioned
With torn lace attached at sleeves.
It is definitely from the 70s.
My wardrobe
Is a museum of clothes.
Donated pieces from here and there.
Definitely vintage,
But worn out and unusable.
Most of the time, loose.
We are poor.
We live off the Rich's
Unwanted heritage.
I inherit clothes from my classmate.
Lisabeth the Pretty.
This is definitely not hers.
But Aunt Martha's.
Her mother.
Aunt Martha was sweaty
All the time.
Her buttery hands, I hated them.
She might have worn this
In her twenties.
Showing her ankles
With blue veins coiled with
Golden chains.
Her greesy black hair,
Sugar plum lips.
I smelled
The younger self of Aunt Martha
On the shoulder cuffs of the garment.
She crossed many rains
And swam many days
Wearing this.
She might have worn this
During her periods.
I can smell her menstrual blood.
Her thighs scratched from cotton.
The sweat of her belly layers.
The scent of her under arms.
The tiny golden hairs around her nipples.
The colour of dirt
In her belly button.
The shaving marks in her legs.
Infernal scars of pregnancy,
I see her
In her might.
Is she still here,
Inside this garment?
The next moment I knew,
I was masturbating.

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