by Ana Maria Caballero
My clothes come from places that are not immediately obvious:
A forty-day South American Christmas, an attempt at youth in College, a
place of blessing turned hard.
Embroidering is slow, so I mix patience with excess and comfort.
Embroidering can be silent or loud, and it is inside and out; but it remains the
single piece of cloth I choose.
At unexpected sounds, my thread sheers a right breast pocket to gently
cinch the waist. A set of green grapes spilled from the cup of an already full
Caravaggio.
Boston Poetry Magazine 
Really lovely!
Much depth in few words, and a wonderful visual end. A beautifully crafted and enjoyable poem.