I first saw my grandma knitting when I was five.
Wool yarn flowing through her fingers,
As if it was a fairy tale by the brothers Grimm.
Magic was happening, giving birth to another
sweater, or another scarf, or a dress I was probably going to wear.
I first saw a fashion magazine at the age of eight.
It was full of clothes, full of bright, extravagant colours,
I was amazed by this variety of art it kept inside,
a little girl facing her nature, her passion, her desire.
I was twelve when I first visited Germany &
realised that fashion had never been this far from people.
Oaf boots and cerulean sweaters I was seeing everywhere
As a complete outsider, an offspring of another world.
It was years after that I understood.
Clothes are what we see & beauty is what we cherish,
But, if it is filth that you carry on the inside,
It can never be covered by a little black dress.
Tipton Poetry Journal
July, 2019
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 3:07 PM UTC
I first saw my grandma knitting when I was five.
Wool yarn flowing through her fingers,
As if it was a fairy tale by the brothers Grimm.
Magic was happening, giving birth to another
sweater, or another scarf, or a dress I was probably going to wear.
I first saw a fashion magazine at the age of eight.
It was full of clothes, full of bright, extravagant colours,
I was amazed by this variety of art it kept inside,
a little girl facing her nature, her passion, her desire.
I was twelve when I first visited Germany &
realised that fashion had never been this far from people.
Oaf boots and cerulean sweaters I was seeing everywhere
As a complete outsider, an offspring of another world.
It was years after that I understood.
Clothes are what we see & beauty is what we cherish,
But, if it is filth that you carry on the inside,
It can never be covered by a little black dress.
Tipton Poetry Journal
July, 2019
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