Poem: "The Endless Reweaving of a Social Fabric"
This poem is spillover from the June 1, 2021 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by a prompt from ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
readera. It also fills the "Intimate" square in my 6-1-21 card for the Cottoncandy Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with fuzzyred, ng_moonmoth, janetmiles, and edorfaus. It belongs to the Daughters of the Apocalypse series.
"The Endless Reweaving of a Social Fabric"
[Scraping Moon 30, 15 A.E.]
Sir Jacqueline was patrolling the land
beyond Lazarus Lake when she spotted
a vehicle on Rainshadow Road.
Touching her bow for reassurance,
Sir Jacqueline urged her horse
toward the road to get a better look.
It was an old pickup truck, mostly
light blue with white details and
rusty red in some places. A shell
on the back had each window
replaced in a different color.
Sir Jacqueline waved to
the driver, who waved back
and then slowed down.
"Do you have injured?"
the knight asked her.
That was the most common
reason people came here,
although there were others.
"No, I'm a scrounge,"
the woman said. She
wore a dark red shawl
wrapped around her face
against the cold weather.
"I have fabric to trade."
Sir Jacqueline grinned.
Mikil would love that.
"We have a trading barn,"
she said. "Follow me."
Sir Jacqueline led her
to the trading barn and
showed her where to park.
Then the knight hurried
to find her friend Mikil.
The seamstress was in
her basement workshop,
making new tunics for
the Knights Hospitaller.
"Here, put your vest on,"
said Sir Jacqueline. "I just
brought a new scrounge to
the trading barn with fabric."
"Oh, good," Mikil said.
"I'm running low on that."
When they arrived at
the trading barn, they saw
that the truck was stacked
full of assorted fabric in bolts.
"I'm Sir Jacqueline of Lazarus Lake
and this is my friend Mikil, who sews
clothes for our order as well as for
the wider community," she said. "Who
are you, and what do you want in trade?"
"My name is Dolores Ghasemi, and I
scrounge the hard-to-find places; this
came from a country craft store, and
there's more if you want it," she said.
"I need food and personal supplies."
"Well, you came to the right place,"
Mikil said, waving a hand. "There's
all kinds of stuff inside -- food, tools,
clothes, stuff like soap and candles."
"I do a little sewing myself," said Dolores.
"I brought a selection of different fabrics."
"Aight, show me what you have,"
Mikil said. "Lazarus Lake provides
the fabric for me to sew with, so you
should get plenty of trade credit --
I don't have to pay out of pocket."
There wasn't much wool in the truck,
but that was okay, because people
were making wool cloth now.
There was lots of cotton and
linen for summer clothes,
some in solids and some
in patterns, pastels and
neutrals and darker colors.
Sir Jacqueline moved
the bolts onto a big table.
"Boost me up?" Mikil said.
It was hard for her to climb
onto high things without arms.
Sir Jacqueline knelt and made
a stirrup of her hands, enjoying
the precious intimacy permitted
by the press of a small foot.
Mikil started sorting the bolts
by color, explaining as she went.
"Pink, blue, and lavender all go
together," she said. "There are
a few different patterns in each
along with the solids, and one
of pink-and-blue stripes."
"Got it," said Sir Jacqueline,
hunting down more bolts of
the same and stacking them.
"There are zigzags of red, blue,
gray, and brown," said Mikil.
"I could make a set of skirts
with those, or match them with
the solid colors over here."
"Here are more stripes,"
said Sir Jacqueline. "There
are red pinstripes, and these
variegated stripes are khaki
with either blue or black."
"Those are good," said Mikil.
"I can make sets of shirts with
skirts or pants so people can
mix and match different things."
"Here's another blue pattern,
like tiles," Dolores said.
As she reached for it,
her shawl fell away.
Half the woman's face
was covered in scars,
the flesh almost melted.
One eye was dark gray,
the other a whitish lump
barely peeking through
a mound of scar tissue.
The left corner of her mouth
twisted down, and more scars
wrapped the front of her throat.
Her long hair was dark on the right,
streaked blonde and white on the left.
"Sorry, I'm sorry," Dolores muttered as
she dragged her shawl back into place.
"You shouldn't have to look at this."
Mikil shrugged, the motion calling
attention to her missing arms.
"We've seen worse. The Grunge
is cruel," she said. "But if you
want to cover up, the trading barn
usually has some cloak pins."
"A pin!" Dolores said. "What
a good idea. I didn't think of that."
"I'll go see what they have,"
Sir Jacqueline offered.
Soon she came back
with several shawl pins.
"Our metalworker makes
all kinds of useful things
out of wire," she said.
"They're beautiful,"
Dolores said, choosing
a simple spiral. Then
she fumbled it into place.
"While you're here, try washing
your face in Lazarus Lake,"
Sir Jacqueline suggested.
"It helps with the Grunge."
Dolores glared at her.
"And how much to wash
in your magical healing lake?"
"It's free to all who come in peace,"
Sir Jacqueline said. "They use
both the water and the mud at
the hospital. It will not heal
scars, but might make them
more flexible, less sore and itchy."
"Sorry," Dolores said. "Sometimes
people ... try to take advantage."
"Stinkeys," Mikil muttered. "I've
met my share too. But here,
the hospital at the House of
St. John draws many people
with damaged bodies. There's
an inn, too, if you want to stay
a while before going back out."
"It's a thought," Dolores said,
"if the trading goes well enough."
Mikil nodded. "You don't want
to get bushed," she agreed.
"Sir Jacqueline, do you see
anything the Order might want?"
"Blue for Our Lady, white for
choir robes, black and brown
for the clergy," the knight said,
pointing to the relevant bolts.
"Stack those," Mikil said.
"Dolores, you can trade
for medicines with the Order.
The commune has other stuff."
"I'll fetch the muckamuck from
the trading barn once we've
settled how much of the fabric
Mikil wants," said Sir Jacqueline.
"She'll help figure the trades."
Mikil made an unhappy noise.
"What's wrong?" the knight said,
turning to help her friend.
"This is polly," Mikil said
as she indicated a batch of
thin, glossy fabric mostly in
orange, pink, or blue. "It's
flimsy and doesn't wear well."
"So set it aside," said Sir Jacqueline.
"You don't have to take everything."
"I thought people might like a bit
of something shiny, for festivals,"
said Dolores. "If it doesn't last,
maybe make something that
doesn't get as much use?"
Sir Jacqueline fingered
the fabric, which oddly felt
slippery on one side but
rough on the other. It
wasn't her style at all.
"You could cut it down for
ribbons," she said thoughtfully.
"Or make some handkerchiefs."
"People used to make silk flowers,
Before," said Dolores. "These are
good colors for that, and there
are leaf-green ones down here."
"I don't know if I could make
something that fussy," Mikil said.
"Maybe something like an apron
or an overskirt, though? You could
take it off and only need to wash
the heavier dress underneath.
It might work for curtains, too,
or some sort of room divider."
"I do a bit of sewing myself,"
Dolores said. "If I can't find
comfortable clothes, then I
have to make my own. I could
try making flowers, if you think
anyone might want them."
"I can make clothes to suit,
if you need them," Mikil said.
"I do lots of custom stuff,
so it's no trouble at all."
She had to, because she
was not the only person in
Lazarus Lake with missing limbs
or other things that made fitting
garments into a real challenge.
"Why are you being so nice
to me?" Dolores whispered.
"Most people don't want me
around. It reminds them
too much of what they lost."
"Neither of us remember
Before," Mikil said. "I was
born in the first year After, and
Sir Jacqueline was just toddling
at the End. So it doesn't bother us."
"Hospitality is always an act that benefits
the host even more than the guest,"
Sir Jacqueline added. "The concept of
hospitality arose in ancient times when
the reciprocity was easier to see: in
nomadic cultures, the food and shelter
one gave to a stranger yesterday
is the food and shelter one hopes
to receive from a stranger tomorrow."
"Sacred hospitality is coming back, now
that we need it to survive," Mikil said.
"By offering hospitality, we participate in
the endless reweaving of a social fabric
on which all can depend. Thus the gift
of sustenance for the guest becomes
a gift of hope for the host as well."
"Of course, for the Order, we have
another reason," Sir Jacqueline said.
"Inasmuch as ye did it unto one
of these my brethren, even
these least, ye did it unto me."
"So you can stay a while, and
it won't be a bother," Mikil said.
"You would be welcome here."
"I think I might like that,"
Dolores said. "This seems
like a place I could fit in."
She gave an odd laugh. "I
never thought I'd say that."
"You can help us reweave
the social fabric," said Mikil. "We
need all the help we can get."
"From your lips to God's ear,"
Sir Jacqueline said, hugging her.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its notes appear separately.
readera. It also fills the "Intimate" square in my 6-1-21 card for the Cottoncandy Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with fuzzyred, ng_moonmoth, janetmiles, and edorfaus. It belongs to the Daughters of the Apocalypse series."The Endless Reweaving of a Social Fabric"
[Scraping Moon 30, 15 A.E.]
Sir Jacqueline was patrolling the land
beyond Lazarus Lake when she spotted
a vehicle on Rainshadow Road.
Touching her bow for reassurance,
Sir Jacqueline urged her horse
toward the road to get a better look.
It was an old pickup truck, mostly
light blue with white details and
rusty red in some places. A shell
on the back had each window
replaced in a different color.
Sir Jacqueline waved to
the driver, who waved back
and then slowed down.
"Do you have injured?"
the knight asked her.
That was the most common
reason people came here,
although there were others.
"No, I'm a scrounge,"
the woman said. She
wore a dark red shawl
wrapped around her face
against the cold weather.
"I have fabric to trade."
Sir Jacqueline grinned.
Mikil would love that.
"We have a trading barn,"
she said. "Follow me."
Sir Jacqueline led her
to the trading barn and
showed her where to park.
Then the knight hurried
to find her friend Mikil.
The seamstress was in
her basement workshop,
making new tunics for
the Knights Hospitaller.
"Here, put your vest on,"
said Sir Jacqueline. "I just
brought a new scrounge to
the trading barn with fabric."
"Oh, good," Mikil said.
"I'm running low on that."
When they arrived at
the trading barn, they saw
that the truck was stacked
full of assorted fabric in bolts.
"I'm Sir Jacqueline of Lazarus Lake
and this is my friend Mikil, who sews
clothes for our order as well as for
the wider community," she said. "Who
are you, and what do you want in trade?"
"My name is Dolores Ghasemi, and I
scrounge the hard-to-find places; this
came from a country craft store, and
there's more if you want it," she said.
"I need food and personal supplies."
"Well, you came to the right place,"
Mikil said, waving a hand. "There's
all kinds of stuff inside -- food, tools,
clothes, stuff like soap and candles."
"I do a little sewing myself," said Dolores.
"I brought a selection of different fabrics."
"Aight, show me what you have,"
Mikil said. "Lazarus Lake provides
the fabric for me to sew with, so you
should get plenty of trade credit --
I don't have to pay out of pocket."
There wasn't much wool in the truck,
but that was okay, because people
were making wool cloth now.
There was lots of cotton and
linen for summer clothes,
some in solids and some
in patterns, pastels and
neutrals and darker colors.
Sir Jacqueline moved
the bolts onto a big table.
"Boost me up?" Mikil said.
It was hard for her to climb
onto high things without arms.
Sir Jacqueline knelt and made
a stirrup of her hands, enjoying
the precious intimacy permitted
by the press of a small foot.
Mikil started sorting the bolts
by color, explaining as she went.
"Pink, blue, and lavender all go
together," she said. "There are
a few different patterns in each
along with the solids, and one
of pink-and-blue stripes."
"Got it," said Sir Jacqueline,
hunting down more bolts of
the same and stacking them.
"There are zigzags of red, blue,
gray, and brown," said Mikil.
"I could make a set of skirts
with those, or match them with
the solid colors over here."
"Here are more stripes,"
said Sir Jacqueline. "There
are red pinstripes, and these
variegated stripes are khaki
with either blue or black."
"Those are good," said Mikil.
"I can make sets of shirts with
skirts or pants so people can
mix and match different things."
"Here's another blue pattern,
like tiles," Dolores said.
As she reached for it,
her shawl fell away.
Half the woman's face
was covered in scars,
the flesh almost melted.
One eye was dark gray,
the other a whitish lump
barely peeking through
a mound of scar tissue.
The left corner of her mouth
twisted down, and more scars
wrapped the front of her throat.
Her long hair was dark on the right,
streaked blonde and white on the left.
"Sorry, I'm sorry," Dolores muttered as
she dragged her shawl back into place.
"You shouldn't have to look at this."
Mikil shrugged, the motion calling
attention to her missing arms.
"We've seen worse. The Grunge
is cruel," she said. "But if you
want to cover up, the trading barn
usually has some cloak pins."
"A pin!" Dolores said. "What
a good idea. I didn't think of that."
"I'll go see what they have,"
Sir Jacqueline offered.
Soon she came back
with several shawl pins.
"Our metalworker makes
all kinds of useful things
out of wire," she said.
"They're beautiful,"
Dolores said, choosing
a simple spiral. Then
she fumbled it into place.
"While you're here, try washing
your face in Lazarus Lake,"
Sir Jacqueline suggested.
"It helps with the Grunge."
Dolores glared at her.
"And how much to wash
in your magical healing lake?"
"It's free to all who come in peace,"
Sir Jacqueline said. "They use
both the water and the mud at
the hospital. It will not heal
scars, but might make them
more flexible, less sore and itchy."
"Sorry," Dolores said. "Sometimes
people ... try to take advantage."
"Stinkeys," Mikil muttered. "I've
met my share too. But here,
the hospital at the House of
St. John draws many people
with damaged bodies. There's
an inn, too, if you want to stay
a while before going back out."
"It's a thought," Dolores said,
"if the trading goes well enough."
Mikil nodded. "You don't want
to get bushed," she agreed.
"Sir Jacqueline, do you see
anything the Order might want?"
"Blue for Our Lady, white for
choir robes, black and brown
for the clergy," the knight said,
pointing to the relevant bolts.
"Stack those," Mikil said.
"Dolores, you can trade
for medicines with the Order.
The commune has other stuff."
"I'll fetch the muckamuck from
the trading barn once we've
settled how much of the fabric
Mikil wants," said Sir Jacqueline.
"She'll help figure the trades."
Mikil made an unhappy noise.
"What's wrong?" the knight said,
turning to help her friend.
"This is polly," Mikil said
as she indicated a batch of
thin, glossy fabric mostly in
orange, pink, or blue. "It's
flimsy and doesn't wear well."
"So set it aside," said Sir Jacqueline.
"You don't have to take everything."
"I thought people might like a bit
of something shiny, for festivals,"
said Dolores. "If it doesn't last,
maybe make something that
doesn't get as much use?"
Sir Jacqueline fingered
the fabric, which oddly felt
slippery on one side but
rough on the other. It
wasn't her style at all.
"You could cut it down for
ribbons," she said thoughtfully.
"Or make some handkerchiefs."
"People used to make silk flowers,
Before," said Dolores. "These are
good colors for that, and there
are leaf-green ones down here."
"I don't know if I could make
something that fussy," Mikil said.
"Maybe something like an apron
or an overskirt, though? You could
take it off and only need to wash
the heavier dress underneath.
It might work for curtains, too,
or some sort of room divider."
"I do a bit of sewing myself,"
Dolores said. "If I can't find
comfortable clothes, then I
have to make my own. I could
try making flowers, if you think
anyone might want them."
"I can make clothes to suit,
if you need them," Mikil said.
"I do lots of custom stuff,
so it's no trouble at all."
She had to, because she
was not the only person in
Lazarus Lake with missing limbs
or other things that made fitting
garments into a real challenge.
"Why are you being so nice
to me?" Dolores whispered.
"Most people don't want me
around. It reminds them
too much of what they lost."
"Neither of us remember
Before," Mikil said. "I was
born in the first year After, and
Sir Jacqueline was just toddling
at the End. So it doesn't bother us."
"Hospitality is always an act that benefits
the host even more than the guest,"
Sir Jacqueline added. "The concept of
hospitality arose in ancient times when
the reciprocity was easier to see: in
nomadic cultures, the food and shelter
one gave to a stranger yesterday
is the food and shelter one hopes
to receive from a stranger tomorrow."
"Sacred hospitality is coming back, now
that we need it to survive," Mikil said.
"By offering hospitality, we participate in
the endless reweaving of a social fabric
on which all can depend. Thus the gift
of sustenance for the guest becomes
a gift of hope for the host as well."
"Of course, for the Order, we have
another reason," Sir Jacqueline said.
"Inasmuch as ye did it unto one
of these my brethren, even
these least, ye did it unto me."
"So you can stay a while, and
it won't be a bother," Mikil said.
"You would be welcome here."
"I think I might like that,"
Dolores said. "This seems
like a place I could fit in."
She gave an odd laugh. "I
never thought I'd say that."
"You can help us reweave
the social fabric," said Mikil. "We
need all the help we can get."
"From your lips to God's ear,"
Sir Jacqueline said, hugging her.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its notes appear separately.