Note: When I first learned of this holiday celebrated in Japan, I loved how it honored their broken needles because they had been there for countless women and now contained their joys and sorrows. How Buddhist to think of our sewing needles as having souls.
The Festival of Broken Needles
Haru-Kuyo, February 8, Japan
Today, I force myself to write
instead of quilt, to rest my needle.
I thank her by slipping her
into a soft cake of tofu. Only she
knows my sorrows, how I grit my teeth
whenever our silence is broken,
by my squalling little cat
or my jubilant dog, who insists
on another walk. My needle
waits out these daily disruptions.
Stitch, stitch, stitch, she comforts,
so what if your husband and you
still live separately, just stitch
geometric shapes cut from fabric
and sew them together,
as if they never parted.
©2018 Donna Reis
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell him or her. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is the beginning of community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -FF