BUY NOTHING DAY 11/28/03

ID TRIP

by Corie Feiner
 

It will not define you—

the silk pants with the fake pockets,

the pink tank top with the built in bra,

the flaring red skirt on the mannequin’s stiff legs.

Unless you know where your clothes are from—

whose lips suck the tips of frayed strings,

whose neck bends to sew the hem,

whose arms are dyed to the elbow with orange,

whose hand stitches the white beads

down the sleeves like holiday lights,

then chances are it was made by a child paid

one dollar a day in a country we made sad

with factory coughs and bitter sips of noxious water.

What progress is this?

That we pay people by sickness.

Call them savages from the safety of our homes

and act as if it has nothing to do with us

why they are hurt, why they hurt each other,

why they have nothing but the story

of how their people used to be great.

It will not define you—

the brushed polyester top,

the faux suede skirt that reminds you

of your parent’s couch.

Ask yourself where the compulsion

comes from. Commercials telling you

to feel better about yourself.

Magazine columns saying, C’mon girl

you deserve it. Or the feeling that your day

wasn’t new enough, in fact, it opened

like an old pair of jeans onto your bare knees

and so you cover it. You cover it and hope

that tomorrow the feeling of change will not

be settled by the color of your hair or by

a new top that shows off your collar bones

and arms. Will someone please notice me?

Start your day by going outside.

Leave your wallet with all the credit cards

and all the business cards and all

the phone cards and dollar bills at home.

Take your food with you. And a bottle of water

(reused). If you are scared of being hit by a car

and laying in a hospital morgue without claim,

then bring your ID. Leave the rest

to discovery. The cacophony of the streets

without a thing to do but walk.

"ID Trip" © 2003 Corie Feiner

Photo © 2003 Rochelle Ratner

All rights reserved.