Suzanne Noguere Today you bend over organdy In organic toil, working the small red squares The way in your youth old men bent over earth And still coaxed wheat and corn from the Basque soil. You fold the cloth, then slowly roll the edges Until rose petals bloom in your hands, Vivified by the stitch that shirs them softly The way the skin is shirred around your eyes. Crooked like a mitered edge, your index finger At rest stays poised above an unseen needle. Indoors, surrounded by left-over silk And wool, we rearrange the rainbow’s spectrum, Sorting the tools of your trade–bright spools of thread, Small silver thimbles, scissors, and the red Pincushions studded with glass-headed pins- As we need them, laboring in your field. We overlap the petals; roses thrive Under the lamplight in your wintry room. Next you teach me the genesis Note: Below it is mentioned that "the Virgin" may have relation to the teachings of Christianity. Therefore "genesis" may be referring to the first book of The Bible's first five books. of frogs: We turn the tubing and vivid cloth emerges Out of itself like a snake sloughing its skin; You whorl it tightly and I think this is How your great spirit must exist in you Compactly, coiled like a spring. From what misfortune could you not recover Who as a child made the pilgrimage To Lourdes, eastward through the low green mountains Of your own land? You say the Virgin slept And say it lightly as if you had not been Bitterly born to your mother’s shame In an age when no one could tell you of The tiny gland that kept you tiny. Self-taught and independent by your own Inventions, you make buttons out of thread, Handbags with pockets hidden within pockets, And dresses that unfold as if corollas With minute parts inside. You instruct me in Techniques as secret as nature’s, my fingers Sure when yours are, atremble when yours falter Those sharp days when you feel more and more mortal.
