Mother's Sewing Machine

 

The sound of mother's old sewing machine

whirring away like a miniature factory

still sounds out in my memory

when clothes were made

from yards of material

bought down at the five & dime

once made they lasted

became hand-me-downs

people wore clothes till they flat wore out

mom at the sewing machine

pedaling away into the night

till she ran out the spool

making something out of nothing

holding the family together
stitch by stitch

arthritic fingers hurting

until the last hem

her artistic talents displayed in

each garment hand made

and tailored to a T

each garment fashioned

with patience and creativity

the end result being

we were clothed in and enveloped by

our mother's tireless love.

 

◄ Oh O

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Comments

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Binte Afroz

Fri 3rd May 2019 19:54

Such a beautiful poem! I still have my mother's sewing machine and the shirts she stitched. However, she lives in memories only.

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Don Matthews

Fri 3rd May 2019 15:16

True and well penned dk. Holed-sox we no longer darn but throwaway and buy new ones. We've lost something from the old days.

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