I watched you but never learned to sew facing
and interfacing, while understanding how two
pieces cut from the same fabric could still pull
away from each other, though forcibly joined
at the seam— Just like how you were aways careful
to match the colors of every outfit, finish with scent
and lipstick and jewelry; while I chafed at mohair
twin sets and pantyhose. I’m past your age when you
decided on the dresses of my wedding entourage: yards
of lace and chiffon, pearls. Now I grow increasingly
comfortable wearing jeans to work, though I’ll top them
with a clean-lined jacket, a sweater in fine wool.
Something to do with warp and weft, how to make two
biases work, without visibly interrupting the surface.