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Poem	Imagining you’d come to say goodbye, I made a doll of raffia and string. I gave her thatch hair, and a broomstick skirt of patchwork satin rags. Around each eye I stitched thick lashes. Such a touching thing she was! That even you could not debate – impassive, undemanding and inert. Yes, surely she’d cause you yourself to sigh. Around her breast, I sewed a loden ring to guard her cotton heart from being hurt, then sat down in the fabric scraps to wait, between the rafters and the furnace grate, needle in hand, and never so aware no craft on earth is master to despair.
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