Behind the glass, mother, sallow, raises her hand. I lift my hand, hesitate, push back tears, turn fabric mauve, she made sure. I had a dress, picking the white, digging into skin thick socks, almost touch knees, fishnet stocking have a hole.
What I was doing in the open always feeling second – best. Grabbing metal, hips weave, bleach blonde hair collides with the floor, her sweater vest snug where breasts should be. The binder she wears restricts breath.
Inhale Exhale Inhale Exhale
Inhale
She adjusts the bulge, a sign on the door, pants instead of skirt
