Bye Goods

In the middle of the night when my dog is pacing a frantic circuit around the bedroom and refusing to be settled by calming words or tranquilizers because it is raining ever so gently and the wind is blowing through the leafless trees outside the window and he believes this means there is a tornado coming, I stare at my closet, specifically the dresses I bought thinking that I should have a flowing presence in the world and the rows of pants, many of them beloved, quiet dark plaids with leather bits that I wore before I started wearing jeans practically every day, and I think I should send the whole lot of the pants and the dresses off to Goodwill and stop pretending I’ll ever wear them like I finally quit pretending I’ll ever wear blue eye shadow again and threw it out, the little sly container with the tiny applicator, artifact of some other time, taking up space, scenery for the dog’s pacing, draperies.