Every Sunday filled with flesh

Published on by Laura Bloomsbury

waiting in the wings for Sunday
torn totem birds of paradise
hat pinned and collar pelts of mink
worn thin. Tightly buttoned coats

dark suits all Jewish tailor made
waiting in the wings for Sunday
limp as the condemned, they hang
stiffened between the shoulder blades

moths have cut holes in floral silks
linens like paper, yellowing
waiting in the wings for Sunday
tissue-toed shoes line the silence

only deathwatchers are tapping
and the wardrobe moans with old age
guarding garments these post-war years
waiting in the wings for Sunday

  • wood borers Xestobium rufovillosum tap to attract a mate, colloquially called deathwatch beetles
  • wardrobe- early 14th century – warder “to keep, guard” + robe “garment”

For my MTB prompt: 16; 4; 8 in the Grass we are writing a Quatern of 16 lines 4 quatrains & 8 syllable per line. Since it is the birth day of  Günter Grass one option is to to reference a poem of his as here with a line taken from: “Open Wardrobe” as title

30 thoughts on “Every Sunday filled with flesh”

  2. I admire how you stuck to the 8 syllables per line, Laura – I just couldn’t manage it!  I love the way you captured an old-fashioned kind of Sunday, with the ‘hat pinned and collar pelts of mink worn thin’, the ‘dark suits all Jewish tailor made waiting in the wings for Sunday’, and the way they ‘hang stiffened between the shoulder blades’ with the moth-eaten floral silks. I was reminded of my grandmother’s wardrobe.

    1. the clothes made the poet wonder about the people and what became of them post war!

      p.s. I did not struggle too much with the syllabic count because it did not have to be iambic!

      1. When I lived in Cologne, my best friend and I used to buy most of our clothes from flea markets, and we love those silk dresses and fur collared jackets.

  3. Loved every word and phrasing, Laura. The atmosphere of worn clothes, worn flesh, how pungently in sight and sound it permeates this poem in its longing for an anticipated entrance, “waiting in the wings for Sunday.”

  4. For me, the third stanza dug hard. The imagery throughout….worn thin, limp as the condemned, the entirre third stanza; and then deathwatchers tapping and wardrobe moaning. Somehow this seems so desolate to me….WW II….the death camps………for me, this is a very powerful poem.

    1. thank you for your insights Lillian – yes the emptiness of the garments is a kind of desolation and there is a hint of something darker too re the absent owners

  10. Not only did you take your title from Gunter Grass’ poem, Laura, but you managed to evoke both the sort of subject and the atmosphere I associate with his writing. I was not aware of his poetry but
    I will dig deeper now, thank you…

    1. thank you Andrew – I immersed myself in his open wardrobe 😉

      p.s I was not previously aware that GG wrote poetry – much of it I turn away from because of the politics beneath (from Waffen SS to left winger!) but some of it I very much enjoyed especially his revamping some German mythology

  11. What a vivid scene you painted! So rich in texture .. as if the lives once lived within these garments are paused .. between usefulness and oblivion.

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