Gauze Poem by Alizon Kiel

The closet opened in a rush of cardboard
A lid ajar
Allowed the silk scarf to slither and writhe to the floor
Opening and opening and opening as it fell
Rolling out revelations
White withered wings
Through the scarf’s stepped falls

They were moths
White withered wings
White hairs on end

But not a single hole in the silk
Bodies hidden and still
Enfolds as they fell to the floor

I gave the scarf a once a twice over
I inspected and checked for holes
Where there are moths there are holes
I thought

My hands made several staccato passes
No holes

But the silk had worn bare
To the point where you could unmistakably see anything underneath it
But cast in pink

My hands made several more staccato passes
Then stopped

Stopped

Because there they were
Unmistakably

Her hands

They were always pink like new skin
There old was a mere apparition floating above the youth
Age had settled over a breath pushing out from her young hands
Her young hands
Her real hands floated underneath
Apparitions in pink
Slight distortion in a shallow pink pool
A coin in a well

Age was food for silkworms
The apparition settled as the weave

The skin always yielded so sweetly to the touch
I once had a pink silk blanket that I held to my cheek

They were smooth and cool
In the summer they would touch my face and hair to get my hair out my face and they quenched the heat

Holding her hands
Like a cool drink of water

They were beautiful
They stayed
Floating underneath

Those ghosts in gauze