White Rotary Sewing Machine
[click to enlarge]
I can’t find my grandmother’s hair. A thick braid of it was in her old sewing machine. About ten years ago, my mother took it out of one of the long, narrow drawers and showed it to me. I haven’t seen it since, but she mentioned it a number of times, and we talked about it being there. Mom never let on that she had moved or discarded it — not that she would have remembered doing so. Although there are precious few places left to look, my hope is that I’ll find it tucked away somewhere in the house. I was going to take a picture of it. For now, this one will have to do. The machine still works — at least it did when I saw the hair. We opened it, as I have just done, and Mom had it humming in no time. Lost in thought, she rocked gently, her foot pumping the treadle as if she were playing the organ. The pictures on the wall were taken in the Twenties. Above the spool of thread to the right, Mom is the littlest girl sitting on the ground, looking slightly to one side. Her parents are standing behind her, to the right. The place: Kingsburg, California, where she was born.
September 25, 2009
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POETRY
Winter Poems
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-0-4
52 pages. Paper.
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Another Song I Know
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-1-1
80 pages. Paper.
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