January 12, 2012: Lace. CWE 102

Lace is soft and flimsy and airy. Angels pull a length of it from a wooden spool and use it to tie up their wings at night. Lace is white and creamy and flutters in the wind. Except that it’s not and it doesn’t. Lace is pretty for about twenty minutes and then it’s gray and dingy. It has a short shelf life. It is itchy and prickly. Tiny loops along the border unravel. Short threads pull and the lace pills. It’s a furry, dirty caterpillar inching around the hem of a little girl’s Christmas dress. Lace is coarse. It catches on dry skin. Lace pulls the swing of fabric into starched buckles. It puts on a pretty face. Turn your back, though, and it cuts all one thousand of its yawning eyes at you. Lace is full of menace. It is an army of Cyclops marching off the island, flogging one another with foul words and swinging flails in the air, metal spikes whistling and slicing the air into thick ropes before landing with low thuds and no echoes. The monsters grunt and metal balls swing from plaited chains. Clouds drop their heavy bellies and the monsters are up to their waists in a fog thick as pulp. The Cyclops chug through the fog like a train, their ears belching out steam. Woodland creatures fall seasick when they see the single eye swaying drunkenly in the center of each monster’s flat face, and the small animals duck under the fog and out of sight. The air shakes banners and beats on drums like a parade.

Doesn’t go with above but to be saved…

Each eye fights to be first, but they’re all sewn into a hem’s circle without end. Bless each little girl who is led into institutions that will chasten her to be still when she reaches to scratch her itchy knees. Bless her when her father roughly pulls at her pink hands and tells her to sit still while an army of Cyclops scratches a raw rash into her, circling her prickly body like a dog chasing its tail.


2 thoughts on “January 12, 2012: Lace. CWE 102

  1. Your writing is so rich with imagery. I wouldn’t know how to begin to do this. My writing is telly like a shopping list. LIke “fog thick as pulp.” I would never have dreamed of pulp there. It’s a process I guess.

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