"Sewing Needle," "Is This What It Comes To?" and "An Invitation (aka Death by Chocolate)," three poems by Lori Edey

Sewing Needle

Sewing needle -

held firmly in the chubby fingers of the six year old.

“I’m sewing a button for my Brownie badge,” she explains,

eyes glistening with focus.

“Too tight,” Brown Owl says gently, “Try again.”

The fifth try is “just right”.  She wears her badge proudly.

Sewing needle -

held firmly in the expectant hand of the mother-to-be,

flannel nightshirt propped high on her belly,

boasting fishes of yellow and blue.

“Winter’s coming.” she explains, “My baby will be warm and cozy.”

She makes the hem’s last stitch and snips.

Sewing needle -

held firmly in the competent hands of the middle aged woman, surrounded by felt and material - scraps saved over time.

“Making Christmas stockings for new grandchildren,” she explains.

Everyone in Bridge Club’s had grandbabies for years.

Except her.  Until now.

Sewing needle -

held firmly in the arthritic fingers of the old woman.

She uses a threader now, sitting under a bright light

as she expertly pulls the thread through the hole – first try.

“Fifteen minutes at a time is all.” she explains. “Never sure whether my eyes or my fingers will go first.”

Is This What It Comes To?

They rock daily on the front porch

Companionably gossiping about the problems of the day

Offering unsolicited advice to the unhearing

Reminiscing about days gone by

Watching, watching….

Waiting for death

Or a visit from a loved one.

An Invitation:  (aka Death by Chocolate)

Come one, come all – I bid you, please come!

Come often, expectantly – I want to have fun!

My Eucharistic tub is prepared just for you

Frozen just right – solid through and through.

All who are nut lovers, choc’late, caramel, too.

And especially fruits, I’ve been frozen for you.

Dress me up?  Oh, you bet, I’ll surely be true.

Sprinkles, smarties, a cherry or two?

In the mood to be saucy?  Hot fudge melts me down!

Hold me in ceramic or plastic, I’ll never frown

In cones – plain or waffle, the choice is your guess

I love to be, preferably, with tongue … caressed.

Luscious lips do enhance my pleasure, my dear

Mutual delight unfolds as our dance steps are clear.

Lips to tongue, roof of mouth, cheeks and noses, too.

Oh, loved one, do come, I am waiting for you!

Lori Edey has worn a variety of hats:  cook, teacher, minister, counsellor/therapist among them.  The last several years, she’s been playing “dress up” with that of writer, trying not to take herself or her writing too seriously.  A convert to cats, she lives a “pussy-whipped” existence with her partner and beloved felines in Dundas, Ontario.

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