The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: The Pink I Must Have Worn by Scarlett Peterson

---

If

If the alligators in this pond are different sizes
my mind will wander, my heart will ache.

If my mother comes to mind, lace-pale, waiflike 
I’ll remember the blown glass animals I once collected.

If the house catches fire, hot enough to kill the winter
I’ll buy mantis eggs to hatch at a neighborhood park.

If the sun flickers dark in the morning, ash-sky cooling
I’ll turn back to the pond (the half-eaten carcass floating).

If my car veers right towards the mailboxes, wheel-locked
I’ll climb some dumb mountain, my joints suddenly supple.

If God forgets about me, lets all of my loves die first
I’ll grow mushrooms from fallen trees, dance darkly.

If the water rises  (it will, it will) I’ll lay backward, hair-fanning
and the gharials will catch fish after fish, endangered, knife-nosed.

If the cats mutiny in the night, small mouths closing into me
somewhere a child will laugh, watch a balloon float skyward.

If more people die, fleshful mouths locked shut forever
some woman will love me, love me once she knows me.

---