“Progress”: Allegory of the subject d(evolving)

Grace Marlier

In the subway trains and on the sidewalks-

even in private residences it could be remarked in the year

of questionable lords past present and future ----,

that bolts of cloth had joined human society and developed

(or perhaps possessed from their conception) what appeared

to be human behaviors.

There were bolts of cloth, some thicker than others, some

taller, some slim, of all textures, patterns, colors-

some were as scrolls upon which the same portion of text

had been printed again and again-

it's beginning preceding the same end and the same end

preceding the same beginning again.

True, for lack of limbs, for lack of joints, these citizens

were not supple.

No sport had been observed in their society. No feats of

daring. None of the gymnastics, acrobatics, suicide and

death defiance that have been the seeds and marks of human

courage for most of the recorded history of what we call

"humankind".

Let's follow a bolt of cloth. Let's observe it (him? her?-

can the gender of a bolt of cloth be accurately determined?

what is gender in the absence of genitalia?)

In the morning it unrolls itself, rolls itself. it aligns

the place where it's printed pattern meets itself to assure

an appearance of continuity, of the perfect seam.

Anyplace other than it's shelter, it's home, it takes its

place in the mythic, mental space of the fabric store. It

avoids the company of other bolts of cloth and awaits

humans. Every bolt of cloth feels itself on a shelf, priced

by the yard, even if it holds the title of bank teller or

business executive, or artist; particularly, though not

exclusively, when surrounded by others of its kind.

If it lives with others like it, a passive spirit of

competing products is bound to prevail. it is a sort of

agitation:

Choose me! make something out of me!

I can't! I'm a bolt of cloth like you! you make something

out of ME! and so on....

It's day is hardly worth describing (and yet...I am

describing it...?)

What does a bolt of cloth remember?-ONLY WHAT STAINS IT.

and it doesn't get stained every day.

But at night. In the bathroom.

Hot water running into the tub- the basin brimming and the

fume of bleach rising-

this bolt of cloth unrolls into a chemical bath-

a laundry bath-

A yard slides in and folds under

another yard follows, and another-

the "water" tops the brim and spills over, unnoticed

another yard slides and folds then...

What is this! a different texture, color, temperature-

and the last yard, the yard of flesh.