I Wear Your Dress - Anaïs Mitchell

This is just to tell you

That I wear your dress sometimes

The one you made with the gold brocade

And the empire waist line

You fit it to your figure

When it looked just like my own

That was Jersey in the fifties

When the women stayed at home

So you laid your paper pattern

On the table in between

The silver wearing napkins

And the Harper’s magazines

From a slow suburban season

That is nothing but a dream

To your granddaughter

This is just to tell you

That I wear your dress sometimes

Wear it down to the bar in town

And I dance around all night

Talking and joking

Swearing and smoking

Like any stranger in the crowd

And nobody stares

And nobody cares to tell me I’m not allowed

I am allowed

And my body by the letter of the law is still my own

When I lay down in the darkness

Unburdened and alone

With the liberty you’ve given

Like the clothing you’ve outgrown

To your granddaughter

To your granddaughter

This is just to tell you

That I wear your dress sometimes