She sat cross-legged on the carpet
Removing the tissue pattern from its envelope
Before her the carefully chosen fabric
A long rectangle cut from a bolt
From a store at the bottom of the hill
A wonderland of texture and color.
She carefully arranged the tissue templates
One by one, oriented as instructed and remembered
Intently affixing paper to fabric
With straight pins held in her lips
Withdrawing them one at a time
Like tiny, shiny arrows from a quiver
As sunlight creeping across the floor
Was poised to make her move
All the while she was quietly humming
The hymns of her youth
And remembering her Mother
Who left too soon to make her a summer dress.
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