VINYL POETRY

Volume 10, July 2014

BIRDIE
Sean DesVignesView Contributor’s Note

Seam

Last month I wanted
a pair of pants tapered
two inches at the legs,
so I gave the dry cleaners
a shot, too lazy to travel far.
When I gave my demands
they looked at me
as if I miscalculated
my body. I told them
to cut & take in
with such fluency
my voice must’ve been native
to a country of narrow economy,
a place where flags were made
with thoughts rather than thread
to preserve fabric. I left
the shop assuming
it would be done, to return
to a pant with pen-sleek fit.
They called me in a day before,
a small dark-skinned woman
approached me with chalk
dusting the pant,
the entire night stitched into it.
She said it wouldn’t work,
two inches; the hem would be
too small to get my ankle
through. I thought to challenge
her in a do-as-I’ve-paid style
of negotiation, but there’s nothing
as measured as the warning
of a seamstress. In one night
she learned more of my body than
I knew of it. One & a half, I humbled,
careful not to squeeze myself
into a schedule of trimming,
an unfinished man.