Playing Pretend is its Own Imaginary Friend

She’d shed her innocent, thirtysomething self
like a snake,
charmed out of its skin,
donning Catholic schoolgirl garments
for the one day of the year
she could be anything
she wanted to be.
She’d never worn pigtails or knee socks,
but page-boys,
saddle Oxfords,
and dresses that could pass as camouflage
in a garden party.
She’d grown up Protestant
with no corpse on the Cross
dangling from her neck
like an open coffin.
She’d often wondered
what life would’ve been like
had she worn his broken body,
worn the uniform
that had been hijacked
by the secularists.