lingerie (a poem)

https://www.flickr.com/photos/worteinbildern/

l i n g e r i e
by Alexandra Harrison

The lights of the disco
Cast colourful, blotchy shadows
Over sticky moving silk.

Arms like fleshy trees
Waving in a blurry sea
Of sweat, tobacco
And spluttering smoke machines.

Outside the air is cooler,
And clings to shining skin
That glows yellow under the street lights.

Home again, to a cold, thin walled house,
And a young man in an old band t-shirt
(that seems older than him)
He clings to a long list of university degrees,
Heavy metal, punk and gin.

“I’m going to bed,” she says
And sleeps under a thin musty sheet,
That reminds her of her childhood and a small blue bedroom,
That overlooked a pretty garden.

She’s wrapped up in fine, lace lingerie
(with tiny little beads)
Fine embroidery and silk covered petals,
Crisp and smelling of nothing yet.

She goes to bed each night,
And he often joins her later on,
And when he does the room seems warmer.
She closes her eyes and thinks of adventures,
And of brighter days and of happier things.

Those happier things come,
And lace lingerie turns to cotton maternity gowns.
The punk’s blue hair recedes to a pale mousy brown
And he falls back in love with paint and thinking.
The lace lingerie and silk,
Become hidden in the fog of the smoke machines
And stay on the skin of the girl at the disco,
She’s never forgotten,
No, she’s still dancing, dancing, dancing…

 

 

This poem is probably one of the most personal things I’ve ever written. A month or so ago I looked through my mum’s old clothes from when she was a young adult and all of her old lingerie. It was a very surreal and special experience to see these clothes, as they seemed to encapsulate a younger woman I never met, but at the same time know so well.  You never associate sexiness or youth fullness with  your mother, so this was a really interesting experience that I was keen to write about.

It is also a credit to my mother’s optimism, hope and strength even when she was going through the most difficult times. My mother is honestly the most remarkable person I have ever met.  I wanted this poem to be delicate, but also very raw and real. I wanted to treat it with a sensitivity, a cautiousness, but with honesty. I’m a little nervous about sharing this one, something tells me it isn’t very well written,but I hope you all like it. Also I’m really sorry for posting so much recently.

Please comment below your thoughts below, I would appreciate it greatly.

Thank you so much for reading,

Alex