Dishrags. Washrags. Dust rags. Rags from the rag
bag that big gunny sack, far end of the closet, where old
coats hang. Get me a rag, Mom says, to wipe up
the spill.
…………….Hear that tearing sound? Old sheets, new
rags. Stained tablecloth, worn towels, a torn blouse
(the one with blue and gray leaves, fabric Aunt
Judy sent; the one that I sewed), tee-shirts—
red, purple, gold. We could design a quilt.

We’re cracking walnuts, knocked from our tree.
Mom gets a long-faded towel rag,
puts it under the door.
…………….…………. .……=.No rags in our panties.
(We’ve got Kotex pads, tampons.) Old cotton undies?
Even blood stained, they make decent rags. That skirt?
Mom asks. Why don’t you wear it anymore?

– Hilda Weiss