An interdisciplinary journal about regions, places, and cultures of the US South and their global connections
  • resep kue kering
  • resep kue
  • recept
  • resep sambal goreng kentang
  • resep kue sus
  • resep ayam
  • resep soto ayam
  • resep ikan bakar
  • pecel lele
  • resep kue kering lebaran
  • resep nastar
  • resep nasi goreng
  • resep ayam goreng
  • resep ayam bakar
  • kue ulang tahun
  • resep pancake
  • resep bolu kukus
  • liga inggris
  • anjing dijual
  • recipe
  • Work

    You wake up knowing you'll work.
    You don't worry that circumstances will hurt

    your chances to choose your labor. It seems
    your choice is made. Reams

    of fabric undergird your life. But fate may
    lead you down a surprising path. One day

    you may wake up and find you had more choices
    than you knew. You leave your bed, your home, with voices

    carried in your head of who you leave behind. Here
    you live out your path with collective memory. Veneer

    line — I worked for three months between Lejeune
    and college. After two babies. Worked to the tune

    of minimum wage, ten-hour days, and culled furniture. Once I went
    into the deafening grind and buzz of the machine room. My only factory stint.

    Never set foot in a towel mill. But that doesn't matter.
    I dreamed my mother's and grandmother's dreams. Dreams of clatter

    and snap, of doffers and fixers, of motion. I dream thread streaming from cotton icicles
    mounted on frames. Spinning dripping cones feeding hungry looms that pulse and
      ripple

    as they weave. Shuttles throwing thread. Clack-thump. Clack-thump.
    Hammering sirens sing fiber into endless reams of cloth. Clack-thump.

    Whir. Whir. Whir. Fibrous colors drape the architecture
    of my sleep. Clacking and whirring lift louder and louder to rapture.

     

    Published: 22 June 2006
    © 2006 Darnell Arnoult and Southern Spaces