I gave my sewing machines away. Now there is only cloth here; corduroy, tweeds, raw silks and purple satin. Someday the needle will rise and fall again, guiding thread into fabric, connecting pieces together with looping threads.
holding tight this creation
dVerse quadrille prompt with the word rise and form of a haibun
I remember the light in grandmother’s sewing room. It was shining through on either side of her old black Singer sewing machine. That room had the best light of the whole house. It is where she stitched away for decades after her husband died. The sound of that machine echoing down the basement stairs where grandfather’s tools lay silent and dark.
Customers came and went past the living room, the kitchen colored with Fiesta ware, or up the side stairs into the back foyer set for sewing. The huge kitchen table was where she laid her cloth, cutting the fabric with shape shears, the bright light on the pins as she prepared to stitch it altogether.
light through the window
make long or short of season
the cloth unfurled