A Memory of Reminiscing In the Sewing Room
Sewing machine long idle, gathered dust
inside the room my sister liked the best.
Old fabric pieces lay where they’d been left.
I let my hand upon soft velvet rest.
I lit a candle like she used to do
nights of our youth when she’d gone there to keep
her mind off her young groom who’d gone to war
and not returned. Sometimes I’d hear her weep.
The war years seemed like only yesterday
when mother , then my sister, passed away.
All those years she’d sewn for pay, heart-broken!
She’d chosen - with our mom - alone to stay.
My fingers lingered on the velvet meant
to have been worn by her so as to spark
romance with her lost love. Unsewn it lay.
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.
April 28, 2018 for Viv Wigley's One nine and sixteen poetry contest
(total fiction except I have a sister who loved to sew!)
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