The Wearable Scrapbook, Stephen Mead (June 2026)

 

The Wearable Scrapbook

Each piece of fabric keeps its secret
now that the hands which stitched have been taken into time.
 
Pull round this shawl-blanket as something religious.
That patch of pastel-flannel there depicts graphics for a crib
or infant’s pajamas. They were probably the sort
with feet & a hood. To snuggle with the bunting
the cheek suddenly nuzzles Air Force denim
with an insignia of gold wings.
 
They were worn that summer swallows swarmed over
the distant barn, turning silver as harbingers
for fog fighter pilots arriving soon after.
 
Fingers trace the woof & slide onto the cotton
of a woman’s favorite housedress & the tenderness
it was weary for in the periwinkle print.
 
Bits of oven mitts, aprons, take the maternal courageous
over a crevice of smoking jacket silk, the felt collar’s velvet
intimate with civilized cocktail times
& brass typewriter keys tapping.
 
What memoirs are hidden in this - an assortment
of letters & cards when the business of post
held anticipatory news still.
 
Muse on that while feeling the sweep of cotton grapes
beside Hawaiian shirt fragments of Mai Tais & palms.
 
What a feast, that hope to eat by sight & by touch.
Close eyes to savor gratitude chewed through the visions
of such continents that are just cloth like a time machine,
just a space capsule the soul rides in
becoming more than it was since.