Old habits

 Day 15:  think about a small habit you picked up from one of your parents, and then to write a piece that explores an early memory of your parent engaged in that habit, before shifting into writing about yourself engaging in the same habit. 

Each year, as if caught unawares
By the àpproach of the firm's Dinner Dance
My mother would try on her dress, sigh,  
Then buy a new corset (surely two sizes too small)
And order me to hook her in. 
The beast, designed to encase from breast to hip
Was made of stern stuff -
The strongest elastic known to man. 
Instructed to start at the top and work down
I heaved each hook towards its eye
Wary of causing pain,
But Mum was made of sterner stuff. 
Gradually the metal ladder inched down,
Coming together, squeezing her soft flesh
Into rigid submission. It was an armour of sorts
Against the judgement she so feared. 
Later she would ask me to paint her nails - 
A chance for us to forgive each other for the pain. 

I've given up trying to fit myself into a smaller space,
I occupy the space I need,  with no apology, 
Wearing my armour on the inside. 
And yet,  I can also find myself caught out
By the desire to wear a certain dress. 
No corset for me, I find a looser one, 
Then paint my nails, looking for a distraction
To deflect the judgement. 

© Copyright 2021. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved


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