Dear Dark Green “Silk” I Bought as a Remnant,
Were you green or were you black, the sales lady at the notions store wanted to know when I was looking for buttons to match you. The darkest green, obviously, with tiny white diamonds scattered across like stars. But your shade was inky, for sure, and the slight iridescence made you all the more mysterious.
That long skirt I sewed you into was, actually, the only possible thing I think you could have been – what else, really? An ankle-length, broody, odd skirt with (I believe) no zipper because the gathers at the waist were voluminous enough to hide the opening. Voluminous gathers but then – do you remember? the bottom wasn’t wide enough. Remember when I tried to jump that puddle and fell when your hem stopped my ankle? Were you as embarrassed as I was? I hope not. You were innocent.
I didn’t wear you after that, did I?
Here’s the thing: thank you. Thank you for all the possibility you possessed and sent like a charge through my hands when I first held you. Does the possibility of a thing go away once it is cut, sewn, worn, and discarded? Or does it get recycled, like organic matter or energy, back into the air, the soil, the next generation of plants, animals and ideas?
I think the latter. I still remember holding you when I stood at the button counter, surveying my options, imagining our future together.
-e.