Thursday, June 08, 2006

The Fabric of My Life

As a child, there were wrinkles in my dresses.
Laundry was starched, kept damp, ironed.
Made for a much tidier presentation.

As soon as the heat from the iron dissipated,
The wrinkles were on their way back.
It was pretty obvious that I was unkempt.

You can never really keep a dress neat.
If it is cotton, and mine were, it will crease.
Creases don’t come out easily.

Starch it, sprinkle it, iron it.
No matter what, not crisp.
I was a rumpled child.

I remember when perma-press came along.
Amazing substance. No starching needed.
Dry it, wear it. It seemed like a cheat to me.

My mom loved perma-press.
She was overworked and under-helped.
Perma-press smoothed over a lot of things.

I like cotton. I like it just the way it comes.
Doesn’t need dye to be pretty.
If it wrinkles, I am plain ok with that.

My wrinkles are not only on dresses.
I show them on my face.
They highlight my eyes and my mouth

My husband loves my mouth
And I love my eyes.
There is truth to be seen in both.

I often wear a rumpled white shirt.
I love the feel of the cotton close to me.
The wrinkles just feel familiar and comfy.


  1. I am gray,
    value sized.
    I stretch,
    and can be tied,
    and often am.
    I stay up better that way.
    To protect the unexposed.
    Wash and wear.
    Washed and worn.
    Cotton-poly blend.
    Is it her man,
    Or his favorite pair of shorts?
    She does not see a difference,
    and I will not tell.

  2. Wrinkles remind me of small scars, signs of many things: battle, growth, honor, grace...

  3. It makes me smile with such warmth, reading how the last line carries the flow of the poem back to its beginning.

    You see so much in what surrounds you; and you share so graciously as a poet. ^_^

    Thank you.


Feel free to critique the poetry. I employ a sophisticated thick hide technology.