Make-Up
Mother never wore make-up.
I guess it was a Nazarene thing --
a no dancing, no movies, no drinking, no smoking, no PDA --
well most of the fundamentally forbidden.
Maybe it was from the depression experience;
the expense of it. Maybe it was just Father
clamping down. Or the day-to-day
existence of kids & garden & fixing meals
ready at the appointed time.
What purpose would make-up serve?
It would roll off and mix with the sweat
of daily toil adding a confusion to
a direct purpose driven existence.
I would play with the things on her dresser.
Touch each object she preserved
in its wooden drawers.
She had silk handkerchiefs emitting
the delicate scents of flowery perfume.
In the Baptist church she would make them into
fragrant churches, steeples and all the people
to entertain me for a while.
There were glittering pins for her dresses,
long dangerous looking hat pins, necklaces
of the various type lying in crystal glass
containers (or was that just the straight & safety pins)
— just in the drawer ready as for daily use
— for the next club luncheon!
A small black lacquered (corean? japanese?)
music box sat on top and when opened
played a song I do not remember.
Was this from one of her brothers that
served in corea? Where did it come from?
Maybe there were scarves that felt silky
in those drawers? I would put them around
my head — and they smelled like hairspray
and mother’s hair.
I would open each rouge & powder & lipstick
twisting each in turn like an orangescicle though
I don't remember making the step to actual application!
She must have known of these explorations,
but never was there an objection or reproof.
I put everything back and I think
wondered at their purpose and power.
Was there some fantasy or release
from today's repetitions. I don't really
know. She might not herself.
Did it cover some ache or wound
of which I think there were many?
Did it take her into a better world
if only until the slippers broke and
the carriage was made into pie?
Oh, but then she would
from time to time,
and her face would light up.
She would glow not with the forbidden,
but with the result. It seemed
to me to change her;
the very way she carried herself
out into the world.
And out she would go as if not caring
or knowing that tomorrow would
be just as yesterday.
East Lansing
August 17, 2010
Greenfield Series
©2010 Make-Up — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.
I guess it was a Nazarene thing --
a no dancing, no movies, no drinking, no smoking, no PDA --
well most of the fundamentally forbidden.
Maybe it was from the depression experience;
the expense of it. Maybe it was just Father
clamping down. Or the day-to-day
existence of kids & garden & fixing meals
ready at the appointed time.
What purpose would make-up serve?
It would roll off and mix with the sweat
of daily toil adding a confusion to
a direct purpose driven existence.
I would play with the things on her dresser.
Touch each object she preserved
in its wooden drawers.
She had silk handkerchiefs emitting
the delicate scents of flowery perfume.
In the Baptist church she would make them into
fragrant churches, steeples and all the people
to entertain me for a while.
There were glittering pins for her dresses,
long dangerous looking hat pins, necklaces
of the various type lying in crystal glass
containers (or was that just the straight & safety pins)
— just in the drawer ready as for daily use
— for the next club luncheon!
A small black lacquered (corean? japanese?)
music box sat on top and when opened
played a song I do not remember.
Was this from one of her brothers that
served in corea? Where did it come from?
Maybe there were scarves that felt silky
in those drawers? I would put them around
my head — and they smelled like hairspray
and mother’s hair.
I would open each rouge & powder & lipstick
twisting each in turn like an orangescicle though
I don't remember making the step to actual application!
She must have known of these explorations,
but never was there an objection or reproof.
I put everything back and I think
wondered at their purpose and power.
Was there some fantasy or release
from today's repetitions. I don't really
know. She might not herself.
Did it cover some ache or wound
of which I think there were many?
Did it take her into a better world
if only until the slippers broke and
the carriage was made into pie?
Oh, but then she would
from time to time,
and her face would light up.
She would glow not with the forbidden,
but with the result. It seemed
to me to change her;
the very way she carried herself
out into the world.
And out she would go as if not caring
or knowing that tomorrow would
be just as yesterday.
East Lansing
August 17, 2010
Greenfield Series
©2010 Make-Up — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.