It’s hard to sew being so very slow.
There’s a precision required
that is rarely used in these particular days.
Did my grandmother say the same?
Probably not, for she would have practiced the skill
and not as an art form, but a practical necessity.
The saving of socks and the counting of buttonholes.
Yet in this unraveled sleeve where the cuff
has loosened itself a good three inches round
there are many stitches needed
through and back and over again
to bridge the widening gap.
It is not men alone who no longer sew
or know much of its doing.
It is one of the older active verbs
which has been replaced
by the conglomerate of buying instead.
And it’s true that I caused Mister Claus
to bring me an exact brother
to this simple hooded sweatshirt (blue)
color may vary due to unique drying process
but still, I’m not prepared or ready
to throw away this first version I fell in love with.
Loyalty and sentiment extend beyond dogs and girls.
Problems remain however with the slowness of my inefficiency.
These sutures are clumsy, leaving a ragged scar,
but in the end closure is complete and my sense of simple Zen
by these selfless moments is, if not made anew, at least repaired.