Ell

Lyrics

Hold out your wrist. The bolt is heavy on the counter.
I pull the worsted cloth out from the sleeve.
I feel the distance in the socket of my shoulder,
Over the faint sour smell of sizing in the weave.
I wouldn't need to look to know just where to stop,
My muscle catches at the proper place.
But I pick up the rod with the brass at the tip,
And lay it flat between us in this space.

Because they say a mother's reach is too uncertain.
They say a lover's span is prone to shift.
So somebody else's arm is wrapping round your shoulders,
A ghost who gave the marketplace a gift.
We buy and sell the air a dead man used to hold,
And wrap you in the coldness of his bone.
I measure you against a wooden stranger,
To send you out into the dark alone.

You shift your weight. The white chalk drags a dusty line.
I pin the fabric where your collarbone descends.
Before they sent this polished piece of maple to us,
A tailor wrapped a neighbor with his own two hands.
The law demands that every bolt is just the same,
No matter if the boy is broad or slight.
I check the wooden stick against your breathing chest,
Just to be absolutely sure I got it right.

Because they say a mother's reach is too uncertain.
They say a lover's span is prone to shift.
So somebody else's arm is wrapping round your shoulders,
A ghost who gave the marketplace a gift.
We buy and sell the air a dead man used to hold,
And wrap you in the coldness of his bone.
I measure you against a wooden stranger,
To send you out into the dark alone.

But once the iron scissors bite the fabric,
The phantom gives up all his heavy claim.
The cloth forgets the maple and the brass,
The cloth forgets the dead man's royal name.
It falls across your back and finally settles.
It takes the living shape of who you are.

The measuring is done.
The rod goes on the shelf.
You put the jacket on and turn around.
I brush a stray white thread off your lapel.
You look so tall.
I sweep the cuttings from the ground.