qarrtsiluni

You pick apart the seams
of me with adept hands;
I cannot stop the fraying.

Words snip and each snipe
forces more tattering,
I slip beneath the meaning.

You pin me into something
new under curses and blood
pricked fingers.

The final dart is stitched
edges diminished, trimmed
with braided compliance.

You wear me with the pleasure
of reconstruction trickling
from the corners of your mouth.

Now I fit fine on every occasion,
lips tacked tight with the invisible
thread held in every tailor’s kit.

by Sonia Hendy-Isaac

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