Seam Stresses -- by Kim Ode

Somewhere in the mile-long seam

Of a flounce for a teenager’s prom dress

Whose success, at this moment, is in doubt,

I see what I am doing.

See it in that peculiar way in which

The past sometimes appears,

Clicking through scenes on a View-Master

From a cardboard disk I didn’t know I’d saved.

There I am,

Standing in a coldly sleek white gown,

Then in another with too much lace,

And in another that is, well, ick.

Click.

My mother says, I could sew your wedding dress.

I think it was a Simplicity pattern.

Or was it Vogue?

All I know is that she stitched miles of seams

In less than a week.

I sewed on the pearls to accent the bodice

But it was, as usual, a stitch to her every ten.

So here I am, against all logic,

Compelled by the reality of ick,

Volunteering almost word for word

To sew a prom dress for this Saturday.

I’m not sure what I will tell my mother.

Whether to thank her for these skills,

Or ponder how history rewinds itself,

Whether to confess to some competition

Or laugh about the hell we clench in our teeth

And wrestle to the ground

Because of a daughter.

Somewhere in the mile-long seam

That I am snipping open, stitch by stitch

To smooth away a pucker,

I hear a low chuckle

And I know what I will say.