she sews oh, so slow,
her seams, it seems,
are flawless

on a treadle she pedals
her way, stitches together 

beautiful melodies of love
on her Singer

she once put a name-tag for me
in every sock, one summer I left

there's the very feint image - 
an apricot pit's striation in the varnish
- she'd left one atop the machine to dry
on a sunny day

such was her habit
for starting new houseplants

I look for her in every window,
she watching the new world go by,
small paring knife in hand,
a piece of stone fruit

a wave

(G Series, Model 66, part of a shipment of 50,000 sewing machines
allotted to retailers on June 22, 1910)

cc: Chagall 2021