Song of the Seamstress – For My Mother

Savation comes in many disguises,

The ritural of patterns

Folds of cloths

Cotton,

Wool,

Silk,

Cut over and over and shaped,

My mother knew the way of the cloth,

Not Catholic but

the the belief behind it,

She,

Folds layers of cloths, until all

guilt and regret

is hidden

forgotten,

I have never been able to stitch a straight line,

Needle prick my finger,

Like Sleeping Beauty,

I have never got the hang of domestic chores,

Never followed through on committments,

Commit like suicide hangs easily as

Opaque drapes shroud light from space,

Discord from violence,

Salvation hangs on the cross,

It drapes as easily as fresh

spun silk hangs on the loom,

Salvation is stitched in every seam,

Until years of gret and sadness are washed into the fabric,

Until there is nothing left but

the monochrome black and white of

Faded memory

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