A fluorescent dress marked my passage
from adolescence to adult.
On my bat mitzvah day,
I ascended the bimah
clothed in DayGlo Signal Green Screamin’ Fluorescent Paint,
a color “perfect for Haunted Houses.”
My face reflected green,
not good for a sallow girl.

The offending dress was well-tailored
in a sturdy fabric.
It would haunt me until I outgrew it.
Not like the cheap apricot dress
that I wore as a supporting actress
to my brother’s bar mitzvah,
that split at the seams,
one morning during temple services.
Why didn’t I realize this in the store?

I’m not real happy with the execution of this poem.

But perhaps I’ve got the germ of a good idea. I seem to have very emotional associations with some clothing. Plus, it’s so liberating that poetry doesn’t have to be literally true.