Evalyn Lee




you are the stamp without a passport
two naughty dogs in a basket full of bother
a tapestry needle sharp with Appleton thread
a woman outwitting her brother

you are the blood of the meat in the locker
water under every inch of skin
much deafer and thinner than ever
the shiny eye of a robin on the end of limb

you are the sorted skeins of wool by color
the model patient praised in a doctor’s letter
three kitchen dressers holding up the family china
each stitch of needlework framed and hung by date

you are the spry dark curve of an oast house roof
a damaged heart that will get better you are
a farm hops on one side and cherries
on the other all the way down to the sea