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.


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

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

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

  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

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

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


  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

    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.


  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.