1 poem
:—:
Notions have always been material
:—:
a flight to Paris
a pattern unfolded
from a paper pouch
marked facile
:—:
a snap—: to make
the delicate sound
punctuate
an afternoon in
mother’s sewing room
:—:
press the small square
plastic box to trap
epingles in a clear case
then step on a hidden pin
(prick!) snagged in the
pink shag
:—:
underfoot
a silver stitch in time
wounds
nothing heals
the rift between
mother time mine
on my knees—: pinning
pattern to paper
punctures the fabric
:—:
orphaned girls spill out—:
like glass head pins spilled
from a case map vectors
on rue des Anglais :—
the haberdashery
a wife study workshop
in 1838 :—: in 1988
mother wields the
pounce wheel
chalks tracks
teeth showing—: the way
a notion’s violent :—
the needle jumps
but a presser foot keeps
material flat while
feed dogs grip
yellow seersucker
from below where
what a wife is is
still
mechanical
something held
something pierced
something guiding the process
something rhythmic sometimes I feel
:—:
like a motherless child
sometimes I feel
the orphaned girls
like piecing—: a shortage
remedied by joining
:—:
such lengths :—a line of women
in leg of mutton gigot sleeves
fabric ballooned
over their arms like parachutes
deflating—: gone to study
seeded &
shrinking
:—:
where is she? the black wife
someone’s seeking
to be if not lingering where
:—:
people press themselves
prone over lengths
of silks that saved their lives
pressing
the last of the air out
:—:
where piecing hides
a lack—:
to the untrained
:—:
without a notion how
hangar :—: haberdashery
joined
themselves in
a motherless child
join
a motherless child
to an age
to ages
Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon lives in Ithaca, NY.