on what would have been my 30th wedding anniversary

Even if the twenty buttons slipped sleekly into gaps
cunningly left in silken cord, even
if Italian lace sleeves eased like courtiers
to their exact position on my wrists,
even if the bodice clung
curvaceous, glistening with pearls;
the silk taffeta like Niagara
over my hips, its rustle and swish
like sensuous pillow talk—

it wouldn’t fit.
It will never fit
again.

These breasts are heavy with experience;
this waist has won its freedom
from corsetry and boning;
these thighs are leery of white illusions
and surely these arms will never embrace
that phantom, the magical Other,
that fairytale Prince
who never fit inside
any man.

---

Catherine McGuire has a deep concern for our planet’s future, five decades of published poetry, six poetry chapbooks, a full-length poetry book, a SF novel, and book of short stories. Find her at http://www.cathymcguire.com