Sunday, September 9, 2012

Explanation


The world weary hands of the old woman pushed her out of bed. They reached for the worn closet doors, with its brass door knobs, and pulled them open. Looking at the clothing revealed by the light, she signed at the unending colors of black upon black upon black, with not a single shade of color to break up the monotony. After donning one of the many black gowns, she turned and sat at her sewing table. There draped over the table next to her thread and needles, was the dress that she had been working on embroidering. Though on the outside, she must maintain the same stoic appearance that every nun must maintain, however, underneath, on her petticoats she embroidered beautiful flowers with French silk thread. The actual flowers held no romance, no sense of what was ideal, but rather because of a deep longing for what could have been. Here and now, years after joining the German convent, was the first time she had ever felt real regret over here choice. Nein, she thought, Nein.
Years before, when she had yet to think of joining the convent, there had been a young man who had wooed her. “Liebchen” she said to herself as she smiled. Oh how her life would have been different had he lived. After his death, she turned to the convent for help and healing. Had she married him, perhaps she would have turned into one of those women standing by the church wall, wearing her orange dress, waiting to take her fussy children to the back of the church during Sunday mass. Now in the twilight for her life, she longed for the man and the children she was never allowed to have. Sighing she turned back to the little flowers and dreamed for the romance was never allowed to blossom, just as these flowers would never be allowed the same. 

Explanation

Ach, Mutter,
This old, black dress,
I have been embroidering
French flowers on it.

Not by way of romance,
Here is nothing of the ideal,
Nein,
Nein.

It would have een different,
Liebchen,
If I had imagined myself,
In an orange gown,
Drifting through space,
Like a figure on the church-wall

No comments:

Post a Comment