Since I can remember I've had some sort of fascination with clean white cotton, you know, like clean white cotton socks, crisp cotton sun dresses, soft virginal cotton panties...maybe that was the appeal of them. In a sense white cotton reminds me of my childhood; the age of innocence; frilly white school socks, a clean white vest, fouled by grass stains and slops of dinner Also I like the simplicity of it, the purity and cleanliness. I suppose it was a little nod and wink to myself that although I'd lost my innocence I could still play the vulnerable little girl; I could still fool people. Anyway, the point of this blog, and all my rambling above is to share a poem by Maraget Atwood I found. Atwood is one of my favourate authors but she she just got extra brownie points for writing this:
WHITE COTTON T-SHIRT
White cotton t-shirt: an innocent garment then.
It made its way to us from the war, but we didn't know that.
For us it was the vestment for summer,
whiter than white, shining with whiteness
because it had been washed in blood, but we didn't know that,
and in the cropped sleeve, rolled up tightly
into a cuff, were tucked ciggerettes,
also white within their packet, also innocent,
as were white panties, white convertibles,
white blond brush-cuts,
and the white, white teeth of the lilting smiles
of the young men
Ignorance makes all things clean.
Our knowledge weighs us down.
We want it gone
so we can put on our white T-shirts
and drive once more through the early dawn
streets with the names we never could
pronounce, but it didn't matter,
over broken glass and bricks, passing
the wary impoversihed faces,
the grins filled with blackening teeth,
the starving dogs and stick children
and the slackened bundles of clothing
that once held men.
enjoy the rush of morning air
on out clean, tanned skins,
and the white, white flowers we hold out in our fists,
believing - still - that they are flowers of peace.
-Maraget Atwood, The Door
Image by Moi.
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