Mouse
By Cathy A
My childhood was spent stitching
things which frayed: the ears and tail
on mouse, and when it
strayed, a knitted pouch to keep it
in the dark. Or empty afternoons where
I took charge - the five of us spread out
in our back yard; the books I read which
entered me like lead. Things half begun
and soon left incomplete. The five cent doll
in matchbox, blanket-stitched.
The way I learnt to tie a knot in thread.
The mouse lies here, its lining all exposed
the pink thread worn and thinned to herringbone
the gaps where fabric’s yellowed with old stains -
I cut away the case which I had sewn
and all the fraying cannot be undone.