So, I inherited these three coats
Of rabbit, mink, and fox.
The first was a pale blonde,
Ankle-length and downy.
The second was a deep brunette,
The color of roast coffee.
The third was a fulsome red,
Magnificently fiery.
Like three princesses they lived
In the dark of my mother’s wardrobe.
Our future selves, we loved to think,
As my sisters and I caressed them.
And some might say that this is
Wrong: to kill an animal for its skin;
Wrong, and even more to long
For them myself—think of the poor things
Dying, lying there just-butchered.
I should respect the lives that were,
Should take these hides, long-hidden,
Out to the woods and bury them.
But more than this I respect my mother,
For I know how she earned the three
(Think of a throat in a huntsman’s grip,
The rip of skin as the knife slides in…)
It would be a sin, I think, not to wear
What my mother paid for, skin for skin.
So throw your red paint, if you dare,
The color of a tongue or a cashbox;
My mother’s secrets breathed through furs
Of rabbit, mink, and fox.
Of rabbit, mink, and fox.
The first was a pale blonde,
Ankle-length and downy.
The second was a deep brunette,
The color of roast coffee.
The third was a fulsome red,
Magnificently fiery.
Like three princesses they lived
In the dark of my mother’s wardrobe.
Our future selves, we loved to think,
As my sisters and I caressed them.
And some might say that this is
Wrong: to kill an animal for its skin;
Wrong, and even more to long
For them myself—think of the poor things
Dying, lying there just-butchered.
I should respect the lives that were,
Should take these hides, long-hidden,
Out to the woods and bury them.
But more than this I respect my mother,
For I know how she earned the three
(Think of a throat in a huntsman’s grip,
The rip of skin as the knife slides in…)
It would be a sin, I think, not to wear
What my mother paid for, skin for skin.
So throw your red paint, if you dare,
The color of a tongue or a cashbox;
My mother’s secrets breathed through furs
Of rabbit, mink, and fox.
| by Mab Jones |
| THE THREE COATS |
|
Mab Jones (above) is an award-winning
performance poet from Cardiff, Wales. A
“fantastic” comic and performer (BBC Radio),
she has performed all over the UK, as well as
in Washington, DC; New York, Philadelphia
and Toronto. "The Three Coats" is one of the
few poems she has written for the page.
www.mabjones.com
performance poet from Cardiff, Wales. A
“fantastic” comic and performer (BBC Radio),
she has performed all over the UK, as well as
in Washington, DC; New York, Philadelphia
and Toronto. "The Three Coats" is one of the
few poems she has written for the page.
www.mabjones.com