Song of the Seamstress’s Daughter

Seams, running: as callused fingers spurn
invitations from an open window. French

knots and ears of wheat, fleurs-de-lis,
slip knots; blind stitches for the veil

a bride might wear at a wedding. Slant,
uneven, overcast; picked, pricked, tailor-

tacked; featherstitched and darned.
Work on the willow’s whips of tiny

chain-stitched leaves, the peacock’s many
jade and sapphire eyes. Smooth the heated

iron across the sleeves and bodice, but leave
one end untucked. Careful not to spill

the smell of burning plastic on the breeze.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← ReprieveLandscape, with Construction Worker, Ants, and Gull →

4 Comments


  1. Gorgeously evocative, Luisa, of the stitching of our wedded lives (the gown in which we are wedded to life ultimately, perhaps) in the stitching of the gown of the natural world (fleurs-de-lis, wheat, willow’s whips of tiny /chain-stitched leaves) and the harsh discordant entry to the ‘untucked’ end… ‘burning plastic.’

    Reply

    1. I had a feeling that you might say something about the poem if you read it. Come to think of it, I still had that chemical smell in my mind from our little exchange on cloth/fabric stores recently on Google+ …

      Reply

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