Poem: "Needlework"

This poem was inspired by a comment from siliconshaman.  It has been sponsored by technoshaman.  It belongs to the series Fledgling Grace.  

"Needlework" explores how the sudden appearance of wings affects a fundamental aspect of human culture: clothing.  It resonates with other major bodily transformations that may abruptly demand a major change in wardrobe, such as pregnancy or gender transition.  It also looks at the little details and practical ramifications of what happens in fantasy, things that many stories ignore.  I find some of my best inspiration in those areas, and I love it when my readers ask me, "What does this do to X?"

Before the Fledging,
most people bought their clothes
in stores, off of racks.

It was difficult for a tailor or a seamstress
to make a living in a world
ruled by Wal-Mart and Wet Seal.
Even the dressmakers had trouble in a culture
that valued bargains above needlework.

After the Fledging,
all of that changed --
the shoppers, the shops,
and the clothes.

It wasn't as bad with bottoms,
because you could lower the waistline
or add a fly and a button on the back
to accommodate the tail.

There was little to be done
about the tops, though,
because the shape and size
of wing attachment varied so greatly.
Most shirt patterns wouldn't work at all.

So the tailors and the seamstresses
brought out their butcher paper and pencils
and French curves and measuring tapes,
and went to work.

They devised panel tops
that laced together like corsets
or buttoned up the long slits.
They made halters with loose capes
and ponchos with slits for hands and wings.

Dressmakers designed gowns
with open backs and
all the decoration on the front.

They learned not to use zippers.
Zippers and feathers were not friends.

Saris came into style
because they did not need fitting
but simply wrapped between the wings.

It was difficult to adjust
because there were so few people
who could still sew, even a little --
and now everyone needed
at least some of their clothes
fitted, if not bespoke outright.

The tailors and seamstresses and dressmakers
were delighted and exhausted.
They took apprentices and taught people
the new tricks as fast as they could be invented.

Community centers offered classes 
in sewing and fitting and pattern drafting.
Thrift stores added volunteers to their staff
who could help fit old clothes to new bodies.

The Internet was a great help,
as people shared instructions and ideas,
photos of what worked and what didn't,
advice and questions and complaints.

Old ladies smiled to themselves,
glad that the skills would not be lost after all.

Gradually a new style began to emerge,
something elegant and beautiful
that left room for wings
and celebrated needlework
in all its wonderful variations.