“a stitch in time saves nine”

“The universe,” she purred slowly while smoothing through the kitten’s whiskers, “was made out of lots of fabric and one very large hand- the one that was willing to get pricked mid-needlepoint. It was too large for any thimble, and so it was calloused and graceful.

The first pine trees were stitched in with a little ragged breathing, the first clouds were a sigh, the ocean waves all coughs and gasps, tickling into the sharpness of the earth palate.

The first animals were knit from big spools of yarn: wool and linen, cotton and corduroy, gingham and velvet and yards of rouched silk.

There is a texture for every corner of the universe, but there is a special pattern for the cat. A little like origami, folding into the spaces of ticking and melted minutes back and over and forth and back again. One fold for each of the nine lives so that as the fur unravels and the whiskers and tails spiral like a sliced open snail with the little pink tongue… All those stitches will snap one at a time until the ninth finally comes undone just like the rest of the bunching nylon multiverse

how it falters and tangles and tears and becomes tiny and confused again.

These knots”, she whispers, “are special.

Like the tiny tweed holes of the stars,

and the glued abalone shell of the moon.”

(Love from Boulder,

Miss Sara)


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