Allison's Archives

The magnitudes of loss / some a broken bone or smashed frames / others a kind of small and quiet failure / a thread worn thin / an unraveled knot / a plastic disk spinning on a sigh of a string / begging to be salvaged / I cupped the undone button in my palm like a coin I could not spend / walked up to ama 

She kept the sewing kit in a biscuit tin box / its original contents emptied out / now replaced with colorful spools and needles of all gauges / surely there was nothing in this world ama couldn’t make / couldn’t fix with her two hands / she sat me down instead of letting me off easy / insisting there would be great value in me learning / to fix my own problems / to rectify failures of all scales

I still had all my milk teeth when ama taught me the art of sewing / there was no fear in either of us as I held the needle in my hand / fascinated by both ends / her fearlessness has always been a part of her / my fear took root and festered much later / I wonder if it would leave me alone if I pick up needle and thread once more 

The beginning is always the hardest / to thread the needle’s eye / an opening so stubbornly cursed that every tip frayed like a question left too long unanswered / my youthful impatience got the better of me / no amount of pinching or rolling the thread ameliorated my frustration / when it finally went through / I wasn’t even trying all that hard 

Knotting the end was easy / easier was the clipping off of the excess / stitching then / through the fabric / I was afraid of making a permanent damage / the need for a small ruin to restore something to its former glory / through the button holes / two then four / over and under / confidence in pulling the thread with the right strength / lying the thread flat like putting it to bed / like infusing the button with the belief that it wants to stay this time  

How I believed a few strands of thread can hold things together for a long time / I did not know then / I do not know now / ama do you have the answers / I was too intrigued by your assortment of buttons to ask you then / but I have another question for you now / if you are listening / are you always listening in case I ask a question

Ama how many times do I have to thread the needle for it to be strong enough to form a bridge / so I can return to my childhood / before time made a permanent mark on your skin / before it took away mama‘s youth / before clocks mattered / before your kitchen smelled more like a memory than fried chicken  

Ama do I have to tie a knot of red thread / between me and everyone I wish to keep / if I tie myself to the island / will I one day come home again / tell me how to stay / tell me how take needle and thread to what needs fixing inside / will my body tell me when it’s time to go home / will there be a button that comes undone with my name etched into it / will I be resigned to your fate or mama‘s

Ama teach me something / anything

_{The accompanying image (Catherine Brass Yates by Gilbert Stuart, 1794) serves only as a visual complement to the essay and carries no interpretive or illustrative claim beyond that.}