Abigail Elizabeth Ottley
My poem is as much about the mender as the thing being mended. Sewing and embroidery have been my go to relaxing activities this year.
(for things worn but faithful)
When I am creased and frowning, worn thin, worn out
your fingers appoint me to new office.
Pressed tenderly smooth in pursuit of new purpose
I’m stretched taut on the frame of your desire.
I am star-like, elected, all my parts worked with jewels.
made brilliant by the light of your artistry.
Overlaid at least. couched in silver and gold
my material being is transformed.