An Estrangement Called Love

Twiglet rustling cotton
“A twiglet’s aim is to “prompt” a thought. If something comes to mind, write. A polished piece isn’t the goal; creativity is.” 

I’d watch her as she made-up her face,
fresh from her bath, clad in a fluffy robe,
under which she wore the accoutrements
of the day, bra, girdle, stockings, full slip.
Chanel #5 wafting through the room.
On the bed, laid out like an offering
was the red dress. Form fitting, low, ruffled
neck and plunging back. She filled it out
perfectly. Curvy, hour-glass figure.  Black
shiny tall heeled, narrow toed shoes
waiting like Cinderella’s glass slippers
for a night of dancing with the prince or
at least a knight in shining armor.

That was how daughters learned the art
and some learned it well, but not me.
It was all artifice, or so it seemed to be.
I chose ragged-edged bell bottoms and
long, straight hair, patchouli and incense,
determined to be me, free, striking a new
path, or so I thought. Turns out each
generation has their own way and some
things remain the same. And sometimes,
in my dreams I hear the rustling of delicate
things and smell Chanel #5 and patchouli
staging a mother-daughter awkward dance.

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13 Responses to An Estrangement Called Love

  1. Hobbo says:

    The first outfit sounds like someone preparing to do battle, the second sounds much more comfortable. Give me comfort over fashion any time! 😂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Outstanding in detail, Debi. I’m a Patchouli, bell-bottomed woman as well.


  3. Arcadia M says:

    Such imagery in this piece. Well written.


  4. sgeoil says:

    Very evocative.


  5. Jules says:

    My mother and sister were the fashionistas. I was and still am more for comfort. I dress up maybe once a year… And often don’t even bother with make up or scents. Being a rebel has suited me well 🙂


  6. Misky says:

    Mothers and daughters. Give us strength!


  7. Rall says:

    Interesting. I think those women were very feminine and beautiful….I just wanted to be cool. Still wear jeans and I don’t own a dress..Although the perfume is a must and always French..Liked your poem.

    Liked by 1 person

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