A perfect $3 circle, its
ends joined by a shiny
brass screw, the
honey-colored hoop
called me from the thrift
store shelf to join
the other women who’ve
stuck a needle in and
out, through fabrics
carefully selected
and scraps saved
to adorn or
join with colorful
threads in elegant
chains and stitches or
ruler-straight lines.

Someday, I, too, can
use this perfect hoop,
a tool to help me
piece together the
abandoned fabrics of
my life which have
so rudely been
yanked apart in
recent weeks.

From the tender
invitation of my
dear friend, I’ll choose
the pattern: a simple
and traditional one– log
cabin, flying geese,
or scattered stars. The
pieces will come from his
dress shirts of blue,
sports shirts of plaid,
the ones in so
many photos, the ones I
love, the ones that are him.

Maybe we’ll even
find a spot for the tiny
pleats of a tuxedo shirt
from the back of his closet.

And once I’ve
chosen the design, I
hope I can accept my
dear friend’s offer
to cut and piece it
together as the wind
blows cooler and the
leaves begin to fall, her gift to
my aching heart.

I bought a hoop today,
a woman’s tool that
holds a promise:
perhaps by winter
when the bills are paid, and
the paperwork sorted, the
garden empty, the
tools organized, and
the machines sold,
by winter,
I’ll have time to sit
and sew 
and
heal.

I bought a hoop today,
one that will help me
stitch my heart back
together. That will
join layers of love,
reminding
me to celebrate my
blessings, and help mend
my soul.