Black Holds Her Essence Back

Twirling in cottons of pinks yellows and blue Prom red satin slides in, so shiny and new Followed by linen, stark, stiff and tannish white Black holds her essence back, saving herself for the night Whirling in wonder the materials swirl Laughing at the closets of frayed fabrics that curl Yellows in a stack down the hall ready to be quilted Some of the shabbier cottons are practically wilted The fabrics are laughing at each other’s flaws Bullies on fire, so glad none have jaws Instead of supporting, they tear polyester apart. Not realizing even she is a lost pantsuit art. I dare not peek in the sewing room, For they are nasty and mean. They make fun of each other. Each one thinks she is queen. The fabrics are nasty, back-biting and bad. Maybe the worst textures I have ever had. I enter cautiously, hoping to fix them, to make them play right. Black holds her essence back, saving herself for the night