tears burned, beaded up
on uneven stitches
marching the plaid seam
a seam ripper pinched in my angry grip
I tore
each stubborn stitch
released it
released them each one
then pressed along the holes
left by the sewing machine
covering my tracks
drew my sleeve across my tears
wiping away enough anger
to start again
the precision of my mother
was not mine
yet
now I wonder
what can and can’t
be undone
from the studio notebook
