I Tried Out The Unfamiliar

...which Causes Me To Wonder, My Own Purpose On So Many Days As Humble As The Spider's, What Is Beautiful That I Make? What Is Elegant? What Feeds The World?

To Sew Is To Pray. Men Don't Understand This. They See The Whole But They Don't See The Stitches. They Don't See The Speech Of The Creator In The Work Of The Needle. We Mend. We Women Turn Things Inside Out And Set Things Right. We Salvage What We Can Of Human Garments And Piece The Rest Into Blankets. Sometimes Our Stitches Stutter And Slow. Only A Woman's Eyes Can Tell. Other Times, The Tension In The Stitches Might Be Too Tight Because Of Tears, But Only We Know What Emotion Went Into The Making. Only Women Can Hear The Prayer.

I Knew Each Person's Delusion, The Places Their Records Had Scratched, Where The Sounds Repeated.

Numbers, Time, Inches, Feet. All Are Just Ploys For Cutting Nature Down To Size.

Sometimes A Person's Monstrosity Seems Superhuman.