The Sewing Case

Of the household objects that have always been there,

unremarkable, unsung,

this,

a little sewing case belonging to my mother,

is perhaps the most modest.

I don't know who made it.

It might even have been a child's handwork.

I had an older sister who died before I was born,

when she was ten, in November 1951.

Perhaps she made it at school. I was never told.

I have never even wondered until now.

Inside there were neatly sewn compartments.

One for scissors. One for thimbles.

One for a needle case.

That was not homemade.

It has a tiny label saying,

Romney series,

Newton Mill, England.

I still use it,

but it is very fragile.

I decided to make a new one

using a scrap of fabric from my mother's ottoman

and some marbled paper from my first trip to Florence.

 And then I made another,
from old curtain material,

 and another from perishing fabric 

wrapped round a coat hanger

 and another,

and just one more.

 Which is why I haven't been

here very much.