Poetry for thought - Borrowed Dress

Borrowed Dress
by Cathy Colman

He left the room, assured of his immortality--
or was it just his cologne? 
I once wanted his money--not really his money,
but the freshly minted coins of reason. 
His hands smelling like prime numbers. 
I once wanted his swagger, his fame 
but without the dental work. 
I'm reminded that my destiny was
to stand reflected in the infinity-inducing'

mirrors with other women in restaurant
bathrooms who pat their hair, make that little
moue with their lips;
who return to the tables of men,
their hands wet, body hairs galvanized
like filaments of iron. Strange how
everything is orderly even in dissipation
when leaves blizzard the pavement.
I don't see them land but their fall,
the event of it, is still present, almost invisible.

Image: Flickr-LauraLewis23


  1. Interesting poem. It's tricky, but I'm thinking the author is commenting on the behavior of women in a male-dominated world, and it doesn't look so good for them.

    Also, the line about his hands smelling like prime numbers is puzzling. I can't quite get it out of my mind.

    1. Yes, I agree. A bleak outlook for women...the image of leaves falling is powerful. And I love that line! Let me know if the meaning reveals itself to you.