One Word: Materials (Not Enough Time)

alencon lace (I see you through a veil)

broadcloth (the prairie sprawls and undulates),

burlap (kittens in a sack you rescue them)

calico (aprons and flour sack frocks cut up for your quilt)

cambric (handkerchief of the Lord, I embroider an H)

canvas (an artist's model shivers in the corner, the artist is you the model is me)

chino (you called them your lawyer pants, wore them when you were permanently pressed for funds)

corduroy (kings cloth, Thomas Hart Benton's furrowed fields, fretted like your old Gibson)

crepe (my 20s de chine dress cut on the bias, flowers over my hip bones petals and branches over my ribs),

denim (your thigh sliding through the wicket of mine in the doorway where we first kissed),

felt (wetting wool, rubbing wool, a congress of wet sheep in an Irish pub we visit),

flannel (your shirt still warm from your skin, I steal it for a quick trip to the kitchen)

gabardine (your three-piece suit with its vest, its watch chain and fob, the suit I couldn't bury you in)

gingham (cheery kitchen curtains with cross-stitched roosters, I am scrambling the first eggs I'll make for you)

lame (drag queen who made you laugh your lustiest at "You're Not Woman Enough to Take My Man" and the swaggering hips of the singer, the waterfall of gold over them),

linen (the tan and black suit I wore on our first Easter, the one that fits again because I can't eat/don't cook without you)

madras (a plaid we didn't like, a city we wanted to visit)

muslin (that impossibly small antique blouse, leg-o-mutton sleeves and lace collar on which you pinned for me a cameo)

nylon (your thumbnail sends a millipede skittering down my stocking)

organza (the sheer fabric, the topnotes of gardenia in a perfume you picked out),

satin (slick sheets you'd throw off the bed)

serge (the ocean's undertow, all these layers stitched together)

silk (one of the few fabrics that will shatter, as mirrors do, as I have)

twill (classic fabric, archaic contraction, twill never be better)

velvet (the feel of your skin, there)

wool (it made you itch, o I would scratch your back)

worsted (these days the way they're woven, warp and weft and what's looming)

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I encourage you all to go to the oneword site. I always get good practice from this. Today's efforts are turning into a freewritten abcedarian. I wonder if I can keep any of these images or lines.