Fabric

I watched a woman
In the store
The other day
She was touching
The fabrics
Of the clothing
Her fingers skimmed down
A beautiful turquoise silk dress,
Lightly trailing along its softness,
Relishing the vanity of it,
Her eyes closed for a
Moment as the silk
Slid along her palm;
She paused, and her eyes caught
A velvet coat, purple, with satin trim
She let her hand rest
In its luxuriousness
A full minute, fingers
Sinking into the purple fabric
As if nesting, relaxed, warm.
Her hands found texture
Worth relishing
Even a simple cotton shirt,
Holding it, almost tightly,
In her fist, perhaps
Finding strength
In the cotton’s sturdy nature;
A lace scarf delighted her,
Tracing its intricate design
Slowly with her index finger,
The gracefulness of the lace
Echoed in her soft movement.
She turned
And walked out
Without purchasing a thing.
I was left with the feeling
That she went home with
More than any of us,
Though, who never bothered
To feel the fabric with anything
More than our skin.

Copyright © 2007