A poem

Below is Teresa White's beautiful poem The Handkerchief Collection. To order her latest book of poems, Gardenias for a Beast, or to read more about her, go to www.teresawhitepoetry.com

The Handkerchief Collection

I cut my finger peeling pears.

Thirty years later I don't think of pears

or the way I offered my hand to the sky.

I think of the many-storied house

in Kansas: the heat, the centipedes,

the Strauss waltzes,

Mother holed up in her room

with her handkerchief collection.

When she was taken to the hospital,

I knew what she missed most

was stacked in those white boxes.

The day a drop of my blood

spotted her favorite hankie,

she shrieked "Ophelia!"

called me Ophelia!

as I unwrapped a Band-Aid with a tremble,

my future tattooed with a crescent scar.

© By Teresa White

Hankies on show

Check out the handkerchief exhibition at Flash Company's blogspot at

http://www.flashcompanyexhibition.blogspot.com/

Hankies for heroes

The runaway success of Conn Iggulden and Hal Iggulden's The Dangerous Book for Boys (published by HarperCollins and available at all good bookstores) is due, we think, to our thirst for adventure and their excellent advice. We particularly liked this bit, in their summary of useful things to keep in a pocket:

"3. Handkerchief.

There are many uses for a piece of cloth, from preventing smoke inhalation or helping with a nosebleed to offering one to a girl when she cries. Big ones can even be made into slings. They're worth having."

And so say all of us!

Hankies to our hearts
We were at the Bonnard exhibition the other day, a few women who know each other, chatting. Susan, who dispenses moments of light and joy into other people’s days by making beautiful, small parcels that are utterly appropriate and delivering them, said that she had noticed at a book launch that I had pulled a tissue from my satchel and she had gone straight home and laundered, three times, an inherited handkerchief. She dried it in the sun and ironed it and it was ready to give to me.

Susan always carries a handkerchief because, many years ago, Norma, who has a way of knowing things and an eye for detail, and is a perfect example of how to grow older with wit and courage and élan, told the young Susan that a handkerchief was always better than a tissue.

Touched though I am by Susan’s thoughtfulness, I had to confess that I do possess many handkerchiefs, inherited from my grandmother, which have not for many years been out to interesting places like the gallery.

As we talked about handkerchiefs (whether you have to boil them and how to do that you must make time) it became apparent that we all knew that if you are in a hotel and you need to wash your handkerchief, you can dry it by smoothing it over the wall tiles (carefully washed over first) in the bathroom. What quaint bits of information we all possess, as well as our ancestors’ handkerchiefs! At that point the beautiful, accomplished Claudia pulled two handkerchiefs from her bag, one functional lawn, the other made from pineapple fibre – an exquisite, loose-woven fragment with a lacy corner.

She told us the story of how Jane, a woman I don’t know but whom I know to be resourceful and good at connections because I have read one of her poems, had, during the Canberra fires, pulled on her old maternity dungarees to prepare her house against danger, to no avail, and found in the pocket a handkerchief left there years before.

‘Probably you should give Jane the handkerchief,’ I said to Susan. ‘I’ll send her one too.’ So Jane, who, for all I know, might no longer use handkerchiefs, will receive little pieces of cloth that are of use and decorative, that can sit in drawers when she gets them in her new home or be put in a pocket.

You can make of a handkerchief what you will, but perhaps, in strange and uncertain times, the little rituals of things done right, of folds made just so, of taking the trouble, are more than empty gestures. They form the fabric that holds fragile things until we are able to see where we’re going.

And now I have to wash two handkerchiefs, three times, and dry them in the sun.

- Jennifer Moran

This article first appeared in The Canberra Times

(March 9, 2003)

A HANKY IS...

A hair accessory:
Tie it around the elastic on a pony tail or plait. Use it to tie the hair that falls into your face back behind your ear.

An air filter:
When you don’t want to breathe smoky air or everyone else’s sneezes make a bandit mask. Use one large handkerchief, fold into a triangle and tie it over your nose around your head. Or take two standard handkerchiefs, fold one handkerchief into a triangle and a second handkerchief into a triangle that you roll up. Tie one end of the roll-up to the corner of the triangle. Place the triangle across the bridge of your nose. Take the other handkerchief around the back of your head and tie at the other side. In an emergency, just hold your handkerchief over your nose until you get to fresh air.

A shoo-fly:
Wave your hanky to chase away the flies.

Emergency treasure storage:
When that rocky tooth finally falls out at the beach or you find a butterfly wing on the grass in the park, gently wrap it in your handkerchief to keep it safe until you get home.

A stop-gap bandage:
If you are far from a tap, use your handkerchief to bind up nicks or cuts. The pressure will help stop bleeding and the handkerchief will keep the cut cleaner. Wash blood from your handkerchief as soon as possible with cold water and soap.

A stand-by hat:
When you’re stuck in the sun with no hat, tie a small knot in each corner of your handkerchief and place it on your head. For extra cool, wet the handkerchief.

A great way to identify your luggage:
Tie your handkerchief securely through the handle of your suitcase and you’ll recognise it easily on the carousel.

Of course, you can just blow your nose when you need to!