Sunday, March 31, 2013

Holy Week


Days of frantic sewing —
of dotted Swiss and seersucker and sometimes
pink wool, for a coat cinched with a chain.
Of dresses passed down, pared to size;
of rick-rack and hand-sewn hems. Of buttons
plucked from the button-tin, lucky if matched.

All was new or new to me:
gloves soft as a rabbit's ear, a pearl at each wrist.
Shoes to grow-into, and a hat that snapped
an elastic welt under the chin.
I tripped off to mass with my five sisters,
fussy in last-minutes stitches.

Impatient with The Strife is O'er — the dirge of it!
Wanting only to shed this membrane of prettiness,
escape to the topmost branches of a maple
where I could bellow my hymns —
my solo Alleluia's —
swaying on thin limbs.

9 comments:

  1. This one beautiful poem evoked all of Easter to me. Thank you for that, and happy happy.

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    1. Elizabeth, so glad this resonated with you! xo

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  2. An exquisite evocation, T. Thank you - Happy, dirge-free Easter to you. xo

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  3. PS. I hope it's okay with you that I shared your poem on FB?? (Sorry, should have asked first - got swept up in the moment) C x

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    1. It's not okay all all Claire, it's great!!

      And a happy dirge-free Easter to you, too.

      xo

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  4. A light blue eyelet Easter dress, so stiff and scratchy, new fabric with enough sizing for a tent and a recycled zipper. It did feel like wearing someone else's clothes. A lovely poem, a clearly painted experience. Thank you. xo

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    1. Marylinn, I can feel that fabric, the irritation of it.

      What was with the sizing, anyway, back in the day?

      A happy day to you.

      xo

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  5. I have inherited my mother's wonderful button box. Wouldn't it be interesting to have a button box convention.... mine contains some fascinating things.

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