tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205011361740478772.post4114721706899978107..comments2024-01-22T00:39:34.849-08:00Comments on melissa shook: The Vestmelissashookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02398008713376655570noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205011361740478772.post-85722344307860563632009-12-31T14:27:16.021-08:002009-12-31T14:27:16.021-08:00one of my favorite things, thrift stores! the vest...one of my favorite things, thrift stores! the vest reminds me very much of a sweater i recently found and didn't resist.<br />good new year wishes to you!plantingalongtheverge.comhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13899341805908954700noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205011361740478772.post-87131391812955767272009-12-31T04:29:16.770-08:002009-12-31T04:29:16.770-08:00What a nice snarky poem, Mim. I can hear Catallus ...What a nice snarky poem, Mim. I can hear Catallus in there, such a good influence. Tiny you and tall Susan..... Get out the matches.<br />I managed to get out a brown bag of papers, but damn, this is just impossible, all this stuff...melissashookhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02398008713376655570noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205011361740478772.post-56680714502748871952009-12-30T15:51:11.439-08:002009-12-30T15:51:11.439-08:00What a wonderful post, from you Melissa and Mim...What a wonderful post, from you Melissa and Mim's poem above is magnificent, both the poem and the prose so apt for the end of the year. <br /><br />Maybe the end of the year is like an old overcoat. We've worn it out, it's been had and done. Now for some new clothes. <br /><br />I especially love the idea of a coat you would not buy because it had too much of its previous owner in it. I know the feeling. It's the icky shudder that runs through in any op shop - you call them thrift shops- but I love op shops nevertheless, the promise of a bargain, or something wonderful and unexpected is ever present, a bit like your writing here. <br /><br />I'm so glad you ran into Mim. you're not the first person who has demonstrated the 'real' quality of blog life. <br /><br />There is a definite sense of community that some are fortunate enough to translate into actual contact. It's good though that it's not possible with everyone. I'd have no time for anything if I went out and met everyone of my fellow bloggers. Nor i suspect would I blog if i had to translate every written contact into a real one. There's a joy in the virtual that reminds me of the joys of imagination. We need both.<br /><br />Have a lovely new year.Elisabethhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04015624747225433940noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205011361740478772.post-65037501104322198352009-12-30T15:07:00.745-08:002009-12-30T15:07:00.745-08:00The Vest, which none of us actually owns, has grow...The Vest, which none of us actually owns, has grown in our minds, and has earned a capital V. Here's the poem so far. I dedicate to Sue and Melissa:<br /><br />Second Hand Vest Sue Found at Goodwill<br /><br />Those nights, Mim, when you drown in a sea of regret,<br />you—at least—can say: I did not buy that fucking vest,<br />no matter what Sue said or how much she loved it.<br />Because it cut her armpits she offered it to you,<br /><br />tiny, dainty Mim. Kiss your fingers. You’ve escaped <br />the padded Chinese garment that kept a woman warm—<br />stop gloating, you dope: that woman could be you,<br />five one, a hundred and five, small foot, tense mouth. <br /> <br />When her fingers could not work the frogs, she sewed on <br />snaps, hooks, a loop into which she could push a fat button.<br />The most terrible adaptation, her last and most frugal, I guess:<br />ties cut from shriveled nylons the fleshy color of a prosthesis.<br /><br />Sue’s not all wrong: the cream facing at the collar is dreamy,<br />whiskery black stitches, the black silk of the body still inky.<br />I wish the woman’s kids had burned it. I don’t want the weight <br />of her old age, her stiff pinching fingers, her life with a vest.<br /><br />As soon as it’s light, I’ll build a fire and burn everything I can’t<br />work, close, or fasten—I can still strike a match. Empty bragging.<br />I’ll give the earrings from India to my belle fille—“daughter-<br />in law” is better in French. They’re her colors—Kathryn Delvina.Mimhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13039776441665375475noreply@blogger.com