new shirt

Warmest welcomes, my dear digital friends!

Trying something quite stylistically different for me this week.

Those who read my poetry regularly may notice some similar themes and turns of phrase; but trust me when I say, this poem was challenging (albeit fun) to write.

And it starts so innocently… a new shirt arriving.

The sheer excitement… or perhaps even the deified adulation which ensues.

I always love to hear your thoughts and reactions to my work. So so many of you have been wonderfully generous and kind… and that is always deeply appreciated.

Please leave your Comments for me below.

-PS Conway ☘️ ☘️ ☘️

☘️ ☘️ ☘️ ☘️ ☘️

new shirt

new shirt, all folds and pleats,

arrived on the stoop

interred in a brown bland cardboard coffin

its corpse tidy

so clean

so pristine, displayed in its clear plastic shroud

pierced by pins yet showing no stains of stigmata

born again

set free to breathe

redolence of a rich Corinthian leather bantling

stilled by the silence of scent

by this moment

of caught breaths

the enormity of resurrection

the convenience of Amazon

10 comments

  1. Great poem! Reading through it, I was picturing the shirt as a metaphor for a newborn baby, and then, I read the last line. Then, I thought, eh, not so much! 😂

    1. Haha! That’s what (hopefully) is fun about a poem like this one… lots of ways to read it and derive meaning (or lack thereof 😊🤣). Cheers, PS. Thanks! 🙏🏻🍷🌹✨

  2. Perhaps this should have been your Easter poem Pat? I tend to stay away from born again shirts. We have one in our family and they tend to be too tight and clingy. Nice variation on your usual themes!

    1. Ha! Right? Love it, Naomi! Definitely like that shirt a little less smothering and oppressive… especially as the years (and the pounds) continue to climb…. Hehe 😉 🙏🏻🍷🌹✨

  3. Well this is different …
    A package left at your door, turns out to be a shirt pristine, protected … but not just any shirt, for it already has a history, a journey. Within it is woven every pair of hands used in its production, right back to the the cotton seed, the plant, sun and rain.
    Nothing is just what it seems, don’t you just love that?
    I enjoyed commenting on this poem.
    Best wishes from Brittany France.

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