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Ghost Shirts of Dixie [26 Aug 2004|12:23pm] The Ghost Shirts of Dixie dance around the cotton mills dusting the past footprints of tribal feet, thirsting in the desert of dried up textiles. They are invisible- their union name gives a soft, sad ring. Far away, past eastern waters Asian workers breathe chromium fumes through twelve hour shifts. They dream of the Ghost Shirts they dream of the dance, the fiery footsteps and wildcat fists- a dream with no end, a dream to cradle hope. Back in Dixie Land a boy holds his new store bought sweater, his hand caresses the soft material a red embroidered label reads "I love this game" a statement layered with meanings but the irony is missed. The real game, the subtle game, is played in air-conditioned boardrooms and over conference calls. The past struggles in Dixie lie forgotten and lost, the wildcat cotton spindles rust in the wind and the Ghost Shirts dance unseen. (Note: the term 'Ghost Shirts' borrowed from Kurt Vonegut's novel Player Piano) 2 comments|post comment

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