'New cloth' / 'Shellfish Lovers'
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
Your pattern pinned itself to the fray of me
the first day. Not yet stitched, aligning
fragile tissue, judging bias - the wounded
always holding their breath.
When they remade you, I slept
on a hospital couch with your dress, bundled
like a woolen heart, to my nose. Five hours
a short time to outfit a whole woman
into her own dear self.
We tied knots with every colour we could find.
Understand, love always gets down to the wisp
beyond fabric, to stroke
the finest thread of a person - our making looms
us legacies of holes -
you fear cutting yourself short, me
born running with scissors, and all of us
rippling fast towards the great unravelling
Yet the great thumping treadle of a heart can still say
now you’re mending - billow with the wind.
~ Ankh Spice