That type of fabric

reminds me of my grandma.

Of this velvet green couch

situated in the living room,

up against the wall,

with a perfect hiding spot underneath.

A child’s slender body does nicely

for hide and seek with Grandpa.

He can still reach to grab under,

but he’s growing tired

after his body has become, as all do,

sore.

I’m still hiding from them both.

The new me, that is.

They haven’t found me yet.

Maybe they’re tired of

kneeling down

to reach under the wood

and scrape through the dust

to see my makeup,

which I’m so afraid they’ll never approve of.

Maybe if they’re looking

at the patterns of my life,

like those damask fabrics,

they’ll recognize who I am,

who I was always meant to be.

I mean, that’s how I found my true self,

hiding and shaking

under my grandparents’ couch.