DRESSES
The strands that bind are lines and chains of time
From pole or post, a washing line, the cords
Stretch out before, behind and mark our prime,
Decline, our births and deaths and so affords
A glimpse, a little world of lives lived out.
Through birthdays, rituals, rites, the warp and weft,
Traditions form and blend, a strengthening grout.
I keep in sentimental store, bereft
Three wedding dresses, mother's, mine and yours,
My daughter. Pre-war dress and caftan hang,
Mark time, witness to our family's course,
Poignant, beside the nineties white meringue.
Keep them for me, although they gather dust.
The glimpse, needful; to honour us is just.
