Hat for Earringsby Robin HoughtonShe wanted cost price nothing more than a thin twirl of metal that afternoon as she tweezered me out of stillness, dripped another microgram of gold into a leather apron. Two drops alive in her eyeglass, singing of small earlobes - more ying-yang than half-moon, they question-marked my neck. Each was a Rodin kiss of a piece. And l, ashamed to show my piercings, stood at the mirror to swivel no but smiled and watched myself look forward. What could l offer in return?
A soft cloche for the crown of her head, hand-dyed after hours, slip-stitched grosgrain, a curl of feather here or there- she chose the ribbon, the shade of felt, breathed tulle as l cradled rhinestones. Too much, she said
but winked me on. This was my private work, my mistress-piece. l saw my chance, and bartered.
Commended prize, 2017 |