Drusilla's
at it again,
Seated on the
Red India carpet
Crosslegged beneath
Her skirts happily
Cutting the fabric
For a new dress
For Miss Edith
From the skirts
Of the lady
Of the house
As that
Good woman
Lays there
patiently
With the flies
buzzing
'Round the wound
On her neck that
Finished her
For good.
This little dress
Is an easy one-
Drusilla's
mother,
The soft-armed one
Who liked lemon
Curd on her
crumpets
In the winter
And rose-petal
jelly
In the summer,
Taught her how to
Make it one
Long autumn
Afternoon
When it was
Unusually warm
As they, meaning
Dru and her sisters
And even papa
Who had come
Out of his den
With his newspaper,
Sat in the garden
Amidst the falling
Leaves and the
Last of summer's
Roses, taking tea.
The sun rises
And Drusilla's
busy
Sewing Miss Edith
Her new frock,
With little apron,
Pantalettes and
A matching cap
Just as her warm
Handed mother
taught
Her: the hem going
so
And the seams going
This way and that
Stitched with
Precision to make
Mummy proud,
With a needle taken
From an overturned
Workbasket in this
Fly buzzing parlor
As the day heats
up.
Papa, the cold
Hard one who
Teaches her naughty
Games paces,
Stepping over the
Remains of the
Evening meal, mama
Papa, sister,
sister,
Saying, "Damn,
Dru's at it again
-
There's no
telling
How long this'll
take,
I'm bored!"
While her newest
Favoritest boy doll
Sits nearby,
watching
Her nimble fingers
Head cocked to one
Side.
Boy-doll, he needs
New clothes too,
Mustn't play
favorites!
So Drusilla cuts
More fabric,
This time
From good papa's
Clothing, he too
Does not mind as
He doesn't need
them
Anymore, what with
The flies keeping
him
Company.
Drusilla's
fingers
Remember another
Lesson so that a
sailor
Suit comes to life
Suspended between
her
Fingers and her
needle
While cold hard
papa
Who teachers her
naughty
Games paces and
grandmamma,
The sharp, hard one
Like broken glass
Says, "Her bad
spells
Take forever, might
as
Well go to bed."
Papa, the cold hard
One, follows her,
Leaving Dru and Miss
Edith
And her new boy
doll,
The one with the big
blue
Eyes and the soft
brown
Curls just like she
always
Asked Father
Christmas
For, as company.
Only
Drusilla doesn't
notice
This-
She is singing
In a sunlit garden
with
Her other family around
her:
Papa reading his
newspaper,
Drinking tea,
Her sisters
giggling,
Looking for the last of
the
Roses among the
tired
Bushes, while
Mama guides
Her little hands
Through the dance
Of needle and
thread,
The sun warm on
all.
Drusilla finishes
By taking the
buttons
From the coat of
the
Papa with the torn
open
Throat, and sewing
them
Onto the new sailor
suit,
Just like Uncle who
Joined the Navy and
sends
Her presents like
Chinese
Sewing baskets,
Amber crosses,
and monkeys
Made from
seashells,
All smelling of faraway
places.
Miss Edith smiles,
approvingly;
This new suit is
splendid,
All dark blue just like
a
Real sailor
In the Queen's
navy.
Drusilla turns to pick
up
Her new boy doll to
Change his old for
new
And he takes her
hands
With their burden of
Tiny garments in
His large ones,
Drusilla realizes
That she has made
the
Sailor suit too
small,
All her work for
nothing
And begins to cry
As the sun sets
outside
The house that she
Sits in and in the
garden
That she once sat
in
While her new boy doll
Takes her in his
arms,
And rocks her
Wordlessly.
