NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 16: Outfit Of The Day

Prompt: Write a poem that prominently features the idea of play.

The running theme of this NaPoWriMo seems to be 'Nothing turns out as expected.' This didn't go where I expected it to either. It was actually a difficult prompt, if only because 'play' didn't trigger any writable bells. And then a little line from one of my favourite Vienna Teng songs wormed its way into my head, and things took an abrupt left into interesting territory. A few years back I did some research into the exact composition of bone china for piece, and that resurfaced to surprisingly useful effect.


OUTFIT OF THE DAY

She is a dress wearing a face in the doorway

Opening her arms out to you

Whatever you want, whatever you want

Whatever you want is fine by me

-          -- ‘Whatever You Want’, Vienna Teng

Thirty-one dresses wearing thirty-one faces, hung up in the closet

     like pretty little dolls lined up in a row

     and every day she takes them out, lovingly cleans

     their bone-china faces that make up has made

     (if not perfect) at least acceptable.

Thirty-one dresses wearing thirty-one faces, one for each day

     of the month (although sometimes she reuses one

     that matches the rhythm of a heart that leaps

     sings, dances, flies tempestuous, within the confines

     of the corset of expectations she is expected, by society

     to put on every day.)

Bone china, she knows, is bone ash, feldspathic material, kaolin

     a minimum of 30% phosphate from animal bone

     and calculated calcium phosphate.

Bone china possesses high levels of whiteness and translucency

     very high strength and chip resistance, therefore

     it is able to be produced in thinner cross sections

     than other forms of porcelain.

It’s a craft she knows well: mixing up bone china to create

     a new game face, a reflection of the ghosts left in the mirror

     of her faceless being by everyone that passes through

     she collects their leftover judgments and hangs them on the frame

     of her body and her thoughts like magnetic poem-words

     rearranges them, plays with meaning and intent like a child

     building and tearing down Lego houses.

Thirty-one dresses wearing thirty-one faces, hung up in the closet

     like pretty little dolls lined up in a row

     and every day she takes them out, lovingly cleans

     their bone-china faces, plays a counting game to choose 

     which one to slip on 

     before she goes out into the wide world to play.