Socks
where did you get those socks
my mother dangled a pair of
argyle socks in her left hand
these aren’t yours
they certainly
don’t belong to your father
I didn’t want to tell her
I got them from a girl
in my class at school
we had swapped socks at recess
I had loved the way
the argyle socks looked
in her brightly polished penny loafers
she liked my ordinary red socks
that matched her tartan skirt
so we swapped
I saw them as socks
not as girls wear
yet at that moment
I was afraid
ashamed
to tell my mother
that I owned that pair of girls’ socks
I found them in your drawer
she said
looking for the mate to this one
she held up a black sock
going through my drawers
was something she often did
to make sure I hadn’t
just stuck my worn undies or socks
in there
which I did just so as not to have them
all over the floor
I found them
I finally blurted out
found them!
she exclaimed
you brought a dirty pair of socks
into my house
how did you know they didn’t have fleas
or something worse?
I washed them before I brought them home
I said
washed them? where!
at school
then you cant take them back
to where you find them
and don’t let ever catch you
bringing home dirty clothes
you find in the street
ever
she tossed them on bed
they’re nice socks I said
what do think
people will think
that we can’t afford to buy socks
I nodded
I guess you’re right
she was lucky
I didn’t bring the skirt home too
Separating truth from fiction is never easy in this age of confessional poetry. Whose voice am I allowed to speak in? If this Socks story didn’t happen a, I allowed to assumed the voice of someone to whom it did happen? Can poetry be fiction? Does the piece capture true emotion even if doesn’t capture an actual moment. Authenticity doesn’t allow for fiction.
This piece wrote itself. It began with this sense of how some things get gendered to the point where there is no a boy could dare wear a girl’s socks. Clothing was segregated by colour & pattern when I was growing up. Lace was fine for females, males could never wear it. At one time if your belt buckle was on the left & not the right you weren’t wearing that belt in a gender appropriate way? So I created this scenario, that seems to me to be very movie like, though in the movie my hero might pull that skirt out of a more secret hiding place.
My mother did go through my closet & drawers looking for dirty clothes – she did berate me for wearing dirty clothes because of what people would think. I also knew that I wasn’t like other boys but, as I have talked about in other posts, thought that being a fag – meant I wanted to be female too. A confusion that didn’t leave me until my later teens. I was too scared to try any sort of cross-dressing though. The closest I got to that was a couple of mens tuxedo short that did have lace fronts & cuffs. Needless to say I didn’t wear them to hockey practice 🙂
Once I started writing this piece I was easily drawn into my hero’s dilemma though. The things about myself that I hid from family & friends as I realizing my sexuality & cutting away the cultural suppositions I had accepted as facts but which proved to be myths. This piece worked so well I have performed it a few times. Do I have a skirt? To find out send donations to my paypal below 🙂
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