Scissors and paper, needles and knives—
white chalk and the outline of a body
on tracing paper. We were always
trying to make copies of ourselves,
each time on better material. Mother's favorite
was satin or chiffon. My love
for things that shine and loft
must come from this. My quickness
to tears, habit of tearing out hems
and losing one of a pair: talents
I learned on my own. Loneliness is a row
of buttons not touching, closing a dress
all the way to the top: mother-
of-pearl silences, their shallow depths
swirling with all the things we didn't say.
In response to Via Negativa: Visionary.