The Domiciles Project

Story

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High school home economics class was not her forte, she realized quickly. The first assignment was to sew a poncho, one of those shapeless tents that flatter every body because of what they don't show, what they hide. She tried to model her mother, her aunts, all those domestic goddesses that now lie in underground plots, buried no doubt with their hand-sewn clothing - ponchos, blouses, mini skirts, bell bottoms.
She devoted hours to outsmarting her sewing machine, and all that she produced was a sense of violent frustration; she tore up the fabric into dagger-shaped pieces,bit by bit, cloth by cloth. What had begun as a poncho designed like a map - a map of the world that showed her there was life beyond this pristine little Midwestern burb - became shards of torn, worn fabric.

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