I spend fallow days sewing small repairs by hand
working on old huipils, second-hand jackets
cotton pulled loose by relentless movement

my fingers ache pinching worn woven fabric
vision blurs in the impassable needle’s eye
I ask forgiveness and reach for the dulled scissors

I can’t save this world I was cut into
so, I mend a memory,  rescue a snippet of life
tighten a thread, bearing witness to loss

I root plant stems in glass jars
placed on a windowsill to remind myself
that each leaf awaits my exhale

each, a reason to breathe in
consider the damage done
and sigh