My husband bought me this lovely robe 

for Christmas; he knows me so well;

it could be behind glass as a Monet 

painting or exhibited with artisan fabrics

at a museum; it is wearable poetry.

It is gently textured like a canvas

and has this perfect sheen in the piping,

a bright reminder of new spring, 

the color of ripened limes.  

There are other shades of green,

sage, olive, pear, emerald, 

in the stems and leaves holding 

splatters of pink, rose and magenta; 

from afar those splashes form 

the most beautiful blooms, a whole 

field of wild flowers enfold my arms 

and drape down my back, 

and I am wrapped in art.  

It is simply divine. 

I pull it out tonight wondering why

I don’t wear it  more often — 

What on earth am I saving it for?  

So I slip it on and become covered

in love, happily adorned.

—C.L. Fisher, June 2020

Unless otherwise indicated, all content, including writing and images, are the work of C.L. Fisher and may not be copied, used, or distributed without permission.

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