Crafting Form

The clothes lie clumped before me. Reds mingled with greens intertwined with a pale yellow. A purple sock sticks out the side of the pile. A blue sleeve is compressed like an accordion. I survey the mess before me. I sigh and reach out, unfolding the blue sleeve and pulling out the patterned shirt last worn three days ago. I lay it flat. The familiar hatches criss-cross over the fabric weaving a memory in my mind. I could feel the warmth of the sun on my neck as I did then. A cool bead of sweat gathered on my brow descending into my eye where its sting forced me to take my eyes off of them. A dark haired mother with a pale complexion stood grasping the hand of a small girl. The girl’s round face smiled in the sunlight. The noon time heat swallowed them up. The woman’s dress was painted with delicate lilies. The girls matched. They walked toward me as I stood waiting along the shore. Framed by the angry ocean behind them and the circling gulls overhead. The waves pounded the staggered pylons of the pier. The salty air lay thick upon me with the stench of rotting seaweed hanging in it. I set the folded shirt off to the side.

A child’s yellow blouse comes next bringing me back to that radiant day. The sun beamed down its rays filling the earth with its warmth. Birds called to one another, squirrels chittered in the trees and the squeals of children at play filled the park. I sat on the rough wood bench watching her play. The small ringlets of golden hair bounced over her shoulders as she chased after the other kids. She turns and gives me a reassuring smile before taking off up the ladder and down the slide. The lemon yellow blouse shines like a beacon among the greys and blues of the other kids. I follow the light as it dances across the playground and then back again. “Dad!” She breathlessly grabs my hand. “Push me on the swings!” I’m pulled up and break into a trot as she runs pulling me towards the swing set. She jumps up and starts to pump. “You’re getting good at that.” I say as she goes higher and higher. “I learned from the other kids.” She pumps a few more times. “Come on Dad!” I move behind her and give her a big push sending her up too high. The chain goes slack. She falls. The chains catch her and she bounces back. “Not so hard Dad!” “Alright.” I reply giving her a smaller push this time. She giggles as she goes back and forth. Her eyes staring up at the powder blue sky and then back at the greying wood chips. “I like swinging Dad.” “Yeah, why do you like it?” “I think this is what angels must feel like.” I set the folded blouse aside.

A dark blue shawl lies in front of me. 

I pick up a pair of blue jeans. All that remains of the dark stain is a small splotch only noticeable if you’re looking for it. I force away the memory that starts to flood my mind. Flashes penetrate before I can shove them away. A harsh cry. The feelings of fear and hopelessness. The lingering emptiness. I quickly fold them and put them aside turning to the blandness of underwear and undershirts. I focus on each fold ensuring they are crisp and clean. I set them aside and find a sock. I take the small purple sock and put it in the sock pile while it waits for its partner to be fished out.