Once I dressed up in your age.
It smelled of mothballs
and was tight
and heavy.
This is how things are I thought
and tried to heave it off
but found myself entangled
in its skirts.
‘There has to be a way out’ I said.
‘There is’ the devil whispered.
‘Death.’
‘Nonsense’ I replied,
having found at last the zipper.
And as I flung myself
from this costume
my hands
caught in the air
and found there
trills and sharps
and tintinnabulous vibrations.
So I strung them together
and wound them round
my pale body.
And now I live life as a song
pausing only to take breath
for the high notes.
When my ‘Grandma’ books were first published and I was asked to go and read them I would dress up as Grandma. I would even arrive as Grandma. it was tremendous fun. Once, I was asked to perform at a Senior Citizen’s Christmas do. As per usual, I donned my boiler suit, grey wig etc. However, my minder for the event greeted me as a dear and very old lady, not the spirited and adventurous one I meant to portray. I felt very deflated and had to work hard to get my character back.
This particular scenario never happened again but it was a good experience and inspired the above poem, which I was delighted to have selected for one of The Guardian’s poetry workshops.
I put this on Tuesday Poem about five years ago and decided to re-air it today.
gurglewords 