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Yarns from my sewing machine

The reel of thread
ran empty
leaving a cardboard tube
labelled Sylko.

It had been my mother’s.

A thousand yards
finally finished
after 30 years.

Threads of memory
neglected, underused
through the years,
they too run out
leaving only
the essential
unforgettable core.

But they are still present
in the nightie I made,
the children’s clothes,
the costumes for a school play,
the pair of curtains,
the kitchen cushions we sit on every day.

The patchwork of daily life
made from the yarn of memory.

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