A corduroy coat,
from the back of the rack
It's past, invisible..but certainly there...
I watched as a frail seamstress ironed
To put a vintage skirt's pleats
Back, properly in place...
Wondering where it was worn last...
Whose heads were adorned by the many odd hats
that hung precariously about the crumbling house
All priced for the asking...
And I asked many questions
Curious to know if the original souls
Still clung to their clothing...
Loved this too. Even the non materialist can grow attatchment to clothing. This reminded me when I was 12 round my best friends (her older brother there too) a wasp slipped up my courderoy flares and had a fill day munching on my leg. I whipped off my trousers four stings lol. Thanks for the memory. Karen Nothing beats a good rifle through retro wear.
I've never really thought about the past lives of the used items I buy before reading this poem. Maybe that explains why I like certain items more than others. Maybe they take on the personalities of their previous owners. Thanks for sharing.
A fabulous metaphor for lingering over the things we choose to give new life and the ideas and folk who gave birth to them the first time round.
I can almost visit the shop with the mind's eye from the wonderful imagery caused by your words.
Hah! Great descriptions! I liked the last two lines best. I often wonder about the last owner when I buy resale too.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Pre-loved clothes and their stories cling to each other and enmesh the fabric with life and silent memories. Nicely written. Thank you for this gently conscious piece.