Undress

In response to

Undress by Ruby Robinson

There is an ash tree behind this house. You

can see it from our bedroom window.

If you stare at it for long enough, you’ll see

it drop a leaf. Stare at it now, you said,

and notice the moment a leaf strips away

from its branch, giving a twirl. Consider this.

The ash tree unclothes itself Octoberly.

From beside our bed, fingering the curtain,

observe the dark candles at the top of

that tree, naked and alert, tending to the breeze.

A sheet of ice between the rooftops

and this noiseless sky has turned the air

inside out. Black veins of branches

shake against the blue screen on which they

hang. Small mammals are hibernating

in pellets of warm air under ground. But,

in spite of the cold, this ash tree does not shy

from shrugging off its coat, sloping its nude

shoulders to the night. So, you said, undo,

unbutton, unclasp, slowly remove. Let down your

hair, breathe out. Stand stark in this room until

we remember how not to feel the chill.

Stand at the window, lift your arms right up

like a tree. Yes — like that. Watch leaves drop.

How many times have I undressed today? Well I start off completely undressed when I get up and don my dressing gown. Then I dress for what I think the weather is doing and it changes. Or I go for one of my brisk walks during which, without breaking stride, I remove my now unnecessary-after-all waterproof coat. This entails shrugging off my rucksack to wriggle my arms out of their sleeves, hold the rucksack in one hand whilst rolling up the coat, then unzipping the bag and stuffing the coat inside. All this whilst walking briskly and maybe risking my life crossing the road. The mobile phone and house keys have to be moved to new locations about my person before the rolling and stuffing exercise. If it still looks like rain may be possible, or I can’t be bothered with the palaver of all of the above, I’ll remove the coat and tie the sleeves about my middle. At my age, do I care how I look? There’s quite often a scarf that’s been discarded before the coat, and then maybe the gilet goes too if it’s a particularly long walk.

I was amazed this October morning, wearing trousers, socks and shoes, long sleeves, gilet, scarf and wool jacket, to see quite a few people with bare legs and sandals and no sleeves. It wasn’t long though before I began to feel a tad warm.

Then there’s the undressing to change for a meal out with friends. I stand in my underwear, gazing into the wardrobe. What to wear? How warm/cold is their house? Will we need to take our slippers, and how will they look with my choice of outfit? Sometimes it takes ages to decide, dressing and undressing – rejecting things that looked fine last week – until finally I’m satisfied with the image in the mirror. Evidently, I do care how I look, even at my age!

After a few hours, that outfit comes off again, along with socks and underwear and, safe in our room with curtains closed, we can nestle together under our warm duvet and sleep.

Undress she said and hold my

Candle to your outstretched fingers

Clasp me. Hold me

Feel skin on skin my blue veins racing with your blood

Ever

Lasting

Even

Now

Bearing fruit one generation to the next in

A sing song pattern of our making

Our bed, our family under our blanket

Golden angels held on green, in green

Landing gently as aphorisms mould

The targets leaving home

Until beyond is back again

And the elements deliver their parcels

Of delight handsomely, in droves

Sheepish with longing for the down dale

Up-dale nakedness of angels.

Hallelujah! I’m allowed to sing!

Who lets me now? Under whose

Dances shall I twist and twirl

On the washing line of belonging?

Once clipped by a peg,

Now just a photograph of three girls in a row

Winged, fairy like, angelic

Against faded brick

Old river, old river flows.

Undress, unfold, like an onion being cut open, layer after layer. Not always pleasant, irritating, but stick with it, the sweet aftertaste will be your reward. Undressed. Naked. Uncovered. Unprotected. Without a shield, I'm vulnerable, I should be. Interestingly, I feel less vulnerable now, without my layers, then when I was covered up. My scars hidden, my troubles an embarrassment, my madness an issue that needed attention. Madness. What happened to that? Perhaps I wasn't really mad, I just had a strange way of coming to terms with reality. Or perhaps my madness was simply another layer I used to shield myself. Sometimes it's easier to put up a front – any front – than having to explain one's true nature. Having to undress in front of strangers. Which is what I do here, in these groups... There's no subject I have not laid out on these pages. I am as bare as everyone else. Is this what makes it ok? Maybe it's just that I'm ready to be vulnerable. Finally ready to undress myself. It seems it is only through accepting ourselves that we become able to expose our weaknesses.

Here, look, I'm ugly but I will not cover my face anymore. My hair is short, my face is bare, everyone can see me.

Here, look, my skin is full of scars, for along time I cut myself, snipped and scratched trying to free whatever lay underneath. These thin white lines tell my story, the story of my struggle, the story of my victory.

Here, look, my heart is full of joy. Let me take you where I have been. Let me help you undress. We'll walk naked into old age, together, supporting the bits that want to fall apart. Let's help each other while we can....

When I wake up in the morning and get out of bed, I undress. I pull off the layers of soft duvet, of sleep. I strip away the fine wool coverings. I open my eyelids to the light of a new day. I go out onto my balcony and I say hello, to the swaying trees, the buoyant shrubs, the chattering birds, the patient plants at my feet. I raise my arms to the sky and say thank you. Thank you for this day, this life. I feel the swell of love, joy, gratitude. I feel clothed, robed, in the warmth of your protection, your embrace, the unseen cloth, woven from unseen strands. I feel you wrap your arm around my shoulder. Draw me to you. A mutual embrace. Reciprocity. I lean into you and you lean into me. You fill me up with your breath and I offer mine back to you, warmed by my flame within. Small by comparison to the immensity of sun, but of the same molten flow.