Matilda of Tulle

Matilda of Tulle

The warm weather came out walking 

with its showy floral on the wrong feet

purple pasque prematurely emerged

perky green travelers mismatched,

waltzing a bit crooked.

Swag in a matilda

slung over its back of plum weave

While the winds pound my window,

exposing rage

Today’s view after visiting an installation

by an Argentinian artist in her sun-strewn studio

Containing mostly sewing machines and neon bolts of tulle

She’s from a family of textile manufacturers.

“Of strong women,” she said,

smiling in bright red lipstick and white chunky platforms

Fierce florescent blaze

stacked randomly

as a sacred feminine offering

A work, she said, “inspired by random acts of kindness.”

Cascading crush of hot pink and electric orange luster

afloat under heated-up clouds of courage raining generosity

We learn that her work is destined

to be shipped out of this arid landscape

Standing as exile before admirers

Do I detect a vanilla scent, climbing vines where love grows wild?

I imagine the tousle fluffs better in

a moist Washington DC museum mist

A transparent textile, creating strength in its layers, 

opening its borders with diverse colors of the feminine

Protected in its multiple folds to embolden the body politic

It seems cruel to send away

this lambent quiver of roil

with its own mind

in control of its own destiny

giving itself random acts of pleasure

exalted, not allowed to land, 

constantly fluffed, kept transparent,

hot pink, dewy, wet, and flowing