Dressing Myself Poem by Gillian Commerford

My mother fell across the bed
and died
and yet they told me she looked peaceful.
An old lady
{who didn't know her well}
inquired:
'She always looked so nice-
who dressed her? '
'She dressed herself' I replied.
And remembered when she used to dress me
in dresses she sewed herself
of material that always seemed to itch and scratch
in prints she vainly hoped would make me look slimmer
white bobby socks
Jack and Jill shoes
with built-up arches for my flat, ugly feet.
I think she looked on me as some sort of defeat.
As soon as I could
I learned to dress myself
and yet I think she dresses me still.