She wore her Sunday dress today And every Sunday of the week Stacked side-by-side in her closet, the one with the wooden vents for doors, the sliding doors “Give each one a turn!” her sister said, ensuring equitable wear Or concern for her Concern for her soul Fair We have to be fair Every Sunday morning, choose a spring dress or a winter one Easter or Christmas The occasions to be together, to shop together for a new dress
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I always taking my time to find the right mix of material, rarely the one already on the hanger.
No, my goddess called for multiple fabrics and feels, just the right match, not to be found in pre-packaged wear. Like the Christmas I wore that black velvet mini skirt with the red poets blouse and the black velvet vest. Designed by yours truly, wore fabulously by me, by Jeanine, by I. With my flowing and frizzy mess of a brown hair past my shoulders, with my perm in its permanence once my hormones decided. My hair pulled back like a pickle but flowing like a goddess, eyes blue with humanity and water wells, grounded in Earth, grounded in the seas that rise. . . . Yes, she wore her Sunday dress in the dark, holding the light, sharing the light She wore her Sunday dress for her Self to Shine. J.E.O. 1.29.2020
Photo credit:
https://bombshellbettysvintage.com/products/vintage-30s-40s-black-velvet-white-silk-evening-bed-jacket-s-m