sans
I.
it is all ceremony
it is all the cloths
all gathered-in
it is white tailor’s chalk
in a neat triangle
it is the blanket-stitch
before the machine
it is the neighbour woman
with her bone-pick
pulling stitches
one by one
from the curtain lining
the [bone-pick] is ivory coloured
a little larger than a [tooth-pick]
nubbed to cradle under the silks
and lift them up
so she can snip it at the ties
II.
the little knot hidden in back of the material stretched out across her knees is silver, the thread is doubled-to
the material is some floral-stuff on white laid onto a cream skirting
she will rinse it out in cold water later
and hang it on the monday line the blue-blue rope of the monday line
the length of material
is clean, sweaty from her handiwork
she will hang it over the gauze of her nets which are always immaculate
her effort is blind,
she does not need eyes to feel her work her gathering-to of the pleats
©2013 Christine Murray
sans
Published Winter 2013 at The Southword Journal . The poem is from The Blind, published Oneiros Books 2013 |
Chris Murray 