equinox

If I make clothes for this particular body, for this particular woman, the one who has one sleeve pushed up because there’s a rash on her arm, the one who is a little ambivalent about blue so she often mixes it with green to de-sweeten it, if I say, these clothes are for this one, who spent time this morning watching the onions and the violets pushing upward in the garden, the one enjoying their enthusiasm for life, what I am saying is, I exist. There is no other me. I am. Not entirely domesticated. Still growing.