Maja Trochimczyk
The
Coat The girl in a faded black-and-white photo laughs, with her head tilted, buttons
undone on her military coat.
You look fashionable, Mom,
when was it
taken?
The girl
looks up, her mother frowns. They took a break from passing bricks,
cleaning up Warsaw streets – tunnels among mountains
of rubble. Brick-by-brick, hand-to-hand, long chains
of students. Sundays, evenings. They found bodies
sometimes. She sighs.
I met your
Dad rebuilding Warsaw with our bare hands.
But the
coat? I hated this
beet-shade monster.
Hideous.
Rough. A soldier’s coat from UNRA.
I helped
Babcia take it apart, wash the pieces,
dye them –
from army green to beet-root.
Fifteen years. When the fabric wore out,
she undid the seams, turned it inside out, sewed the pieces
back together just like her mom showed her. Stitch by
stitch. Her stockings were hand-sewn, too, from soldiers’
onuce – long bandages for wrapping feet in their heavy boots.
Take two,
make two seams – Voila! You look like
Marilyn
Monroe in “Some Like it Hot!” She sighs again.
Don’t ask,
I’ll never teach you how to sew.
Asters
© Copyright, 2014,
Maja Trochimczyk. |