They+Are+Wrapping+My+Body+in+Silk

Excerpt from "They Are Wrapping My Body in Silk"
They are wrapping my body in silk, layers of black of silk with red cranes stretching their wings over the folds so when I move my arms, they dip and rise as if flying. The //obi// is red, stitched in gold and tied tight enough that I can only take short, shallow breaths. My feet are small, even in Japanese sizes, which seem to please the students and Katakura-sensei as they fit //geta// after //geta// to my foot, exclaiming, “Ou-ki-sugiru,” then trying a smaller size. When Katakura-sensei finds the correct //geta,// she sighs, and unable to bend over the stiff //obi//, I lower my chin, peer down at my foot which is now Japanese. My foot, shiny and white in this split-toe sock and balancing on the wooden //geta// looks so Japanese, were it not a part of my body, I might think it belonged to another person.

Katakura-sensei slips my other foot into the matching //geta,// then stands. I expect her to smile, but she is biting her lip, head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed, almost squinting. My body, its freckles, its paleness, its foreignness has shamed this kimono. This kimono, students whispered to me, Katakura-sensei has made. She is one of three home economic teachers here, and the only one to teach sewing and a type of embroidery so intricate, though I have tried to learn, my stitches are thick and uneven compared with hers, so tightly threading the fabric, her needlework looks like a silk canvas...

//Erinn Bentley, June 2007//