POETRY | MEMORIES
Embroidery
Tanka Prose
bright silk-fleece strands on
sewing machine bed, roll by,
next to Mother’s soft
petite hands while she’s busy
adjusting needle and thread
The identity that was, my mother’s passion/hobby, through which she kept herself occupied, is now protected by dark-gray silt in all parts of its metal structures. Not used since; waits a clean-up. Though we promised ourselves, we would use it, I’d only dust it occasionally. Workable, but worn out. Normal visible discussions and disagreements. Invisible hushed sighs and gagged pain. To be picked up by a vendor for a few thousand? I’m the eldest. I get to decide. I anyhow decide!
on the chosen day,
a boisterous aunt arrives,
checks out someone’s prized
possession — takes ownership
without a price tag
All Rights Reserved
© A.H. Mehr — 2024
With immense thanks to Denise for publishing my poem.
