"...we carry everything with us
when we go"
                              - Brian Turner

All your folded triangles of cloth; notions, zippers,
buttons, shiny rick-rack trim from dry goods stores

All your mended-unmended holes in sheer mosquito netting

Months of rain, thunder and lightning;
the cravings they gave us for sardines, vinegar, rice

All your rehearsals, your dresses and gowns

The stories you threaded into our ears,
boiled noodles buttered till they tasted like milk

I cannot slit a seam without hearing your voice

Every blade sheathed, lengths of thread knotted thrice;
thimbles tucked into an empty cookie tin

Someday the silence will reel us all in

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