See You in the Dark: Poems

Chewing Thread

58 CHEWING THREAD Chew a bit of thread, my mother said, when you sew on a garment you’re wearing. If you don’t chew when you sew on yourself, your brain will get stitched up and stupid. Wash the strainer right after you use it, before the starch hardens. Check the stove on leaving the house. Never forget a thank you note. Double knot the laces on your sneakers or you’ll trip. Never sit on boys’ laps, don’t ask why. Take small bites when you eat, especially with meat, or you’ll surely choke like your Uncle Albert, may he rest in peace. So to this day I chew, I do as my mother told me. And I wonder how it might have gone for Eve had she, instead of a commanding single father, possessed a mother such as mine to warn her: Do not eat of the fruit of that tree, for he who commands you is vindictive, unforgiving. What he says, he means. Our future rests in your hand now reaching towards the branch. Draw back, shut your ears, step on the serpent with your bare foot though it bite you. When next you see Adam, say nothing. His ignorance will be your bliss. Stay in the walled garden. Dull it may be, but safe, safe. Do not pluck that fruit, nor bite, nor chew. ...