Remembering My First Smocked Chemise
Posted: 30 Apr 2013, 23:38
Edited
"My First Smocked Chemise"
In the cloister, the sisters
stitched their secret;
through pigeon-holes
we watched their thimbles
wondering if it was a pear,
peacock or push-cart.
Pastel shades of nylon
baby gowns with smocked busts
and baby frills alternated
with coloured embroidery.
Each stitch equally spaced
with a computer precision.
The Sisters of Cluny
and a handiwork of art
handed over through generations.
Over-seeing the minute fabrication,
mannequins dressed up as angels.
The ancient grey structures of Pondicherry
and the feast of all those Saints.
Most of all the charity sale
my family indulged in clothes
from the nunnery of Christ-brides.
The white froth of the sea
the washed out hue of bright colours
concocted to match a mingle of waves
rising like the dust of mud roads.
Padded necks patterned with curves
and angles, linings of soft linen,
and tiny loops for buttons
like the eyes of birds.
On the kitchen shelf
I see my childhood photo:
White frock and red rose
Black frock and white rose
a toothless smile
and remember mother
who must have requested the photographer
to sit for a little, then she hurried
to the garden to picture-pick those flowers.
In the cloister, the sisters
stitched their secret;
from outside pigeon-holes
we watched their thimbles
wondering if it was a pear,
a peacock or a push-cart.
Pastel shades of nylon
baby frocks with smocked busts
and baby frills alternated
with coloured embroidery
minutely executed, equally
spaced stitches as if precision
was computer marked -a handwork
handed over through generations.
The neat and exquisite finish
for three month babies to twelve-
year old girls. The Sisters of Cluny
dressed up mannequins as Angels.
Pondicherry with all its ancient
grey buildings and the feast
of all those Saints mainly
the charity sale my family indulged
in clothes from a clan of dedicated
Christ- brides.
The white froth of the sea
the washed out hue of bright colours
concocted to match a crazy mix of waves
rising like the dust of mud roads
padded necks patterned with curves and angles
and buttons like the eyes of birds
tiny loops to push the button through
the insides lined with soft linen.
On the kitchen shelf
I see my childhood photo
White frock and red rose
Black frock and white rose
Smiling a toothless smile
and remember my mother
who must have run
to the rose bush for those roses
asking the photographer to wait a little.
"My First Smocked Chemise"
In the cloister, the sisters
stitched their secret;
through pigeon-holes
we watched their thimbles
wondering if it was a pear,
peacock or push-cart.
Pastel shades of nylon
baby gowns with smocked busts
and baby frills alternated
with coloured embroidery.
Each stitch equally spaced
with a computer precision.
The Sisters of Cluny
and a handiwork of art
handed over through generations.
Over-seeing the minute fabrication,
mannequins dressed up as angels.
The ancient grey structures of Pondicherry
and the feast of all those Saints.
Most of all the charity sale
my family indulged in clothes
from the nunnery of Christ-brides.
The white froth of the sea
the washed out hue of bright colours
concocted to match a mingle of waves
rising like the dust of mud roads.
Padded necks patterned with curves
and angles, linings of soft linen,
and tiny loops for buttons
like the eyes of birds.
On the kitchen shelf
I see my childhood photo:
White frock and red rose
Black frock and white rose
a toothless smile
and remember mother
who must have requested the photographer
to sit for a little, then she hurried
to the garden to picture-pick those flowers.
In the cloister, the sisters
stitched their secret;
from outside pigeon-holes
we watched their thimbles
wondering if it was a pear,
a peacock or a push-cart.
Pastel shades of nylon
baby frocks with smocked busts
and baby frills alternated
with coloured embroidery
minutely executed, equally
spaced stitches as if precision
was computer marked -a handwork
handed over through generations.
The neat and exquisite finish
for three month babies to twelve-
year old girls. The Sisters of Cluny
dressed up mannequins as Angels.
Pondicherry with all its ancient
grey buildings and the feast
of all those Saints mainly
the charity sale my family indulged
in clothes from a clan of dedicated
Christ- brides.
The white froth of the sea
the washed out hue of bright colours
concocted to match a crazy mix of waves
rising like the dust of mud roads
padded necks patterned with curves and angles
and buttons like the eyes of birds
tiny loops to push the button through
the insides lined with soft linen.
On the kitchen shelf
I see my childhood photo
White frock and red rose
Black frock and white rose
Smiling a toothless smile
and remember my mother
who must have run
to the rose bush for those roses
asking the photographer to wait a little.
Michael (MV)