Hand-Stitched

an altar poem

remember that stocking
i sewed for you?

i was eighteen—
you were two.

i stitched that little mouse
to that crooked house,
with the window that opened out—
inside, a hidden world.
maybe they were squirrels?
gathered ’round the tree.

it took forever to complete.

somehow I kept it safe
jumping from place to place,
until finally it escaped.

even though it’s gone,
each Christmas my heart longs
to hug that little girl
the one who worked so hard
to make something she could be proud of

other than you.