DIDEROT’S REGRET *

An old dressing gown.

A cave of common cloth

and kindness.

A creature comfort

the animal I am

felt safe in.

The shift made my home 

a harmony

where every possession 

sang the same song 

and by heart.

I knew myself in it, 

in the mangy frock, and others

recognized me because of it.

How quickly I traded

this solace and second skin in

for something better

and more lavish,

when fortune rid me of my poverty

and humility—

and caused me to covet and crave

a red, red robe

that I had to make mine.

Who knew a tint of scarlet would

cloak everything outside of it

in depravity and obsolescence.

I went about trying

to remedy this error

by upgrading all I owned

with luxuries that would match

my stodgy, garish garment.

But the more I bought

the more dissatisfied

and disenfranchised I became.

Now I am wrapped in regret,

enshrouded in it and am a slave

to my old robe’s replacement,

because I became consumed

with consumption.

No one knows me anymore.

Least of all myself.

*Inspired by Diderot’s essay: Regrets for my Old Dressing Gown, 

or A warning to those who have more taste than fortune