Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon

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.