But I can do no more with needle and thread
than reattach a lost button
My clothes are all bought,
made by someone else’s hands
Likely behind the pale green table and dark gray
metal of an industrial-grade machine
Like the one that sits in your living room
where you still sit, trying to make a living
I want to use my hands as well as you do,
to bind our stories, words my thread and needle.
narinda heng 