Last updated 8/31/2023 at 4:25pm
Sturdy and voluptuous,
this basket once belonged to my Mother.
She came under its spell in 1950’s India
where she lived with my father and me
in a British compound.
Perhaps its beauty compensated some for her loneliness.
It became a sewing basket
full of buttons, thread and thimble,
hidden under its domed lid.
Years later when my Mother’s estate
was diffused, this basket full of tangled thread and remnants
was one item I chose to keep.
Why does it speak to me so?
Whispering its ordinary loveliness and fidelity
and holding its contents secure and private—
I think it embodies...