My clothes come from places that are not immediately obvious:
A forty-day South American Christmas, an attempt at youth in College, a place of blessing turned hard.
Embroidering is slow, so I mix patience with excess and comfort. Embroidering can be silent or loud, and it is inside and out; but it remains the single piece of cloth I choose.
At unexpected sounds, my thread sheers a right breast pocket to gently cinch the waist. A set of green grapes spilled from the cup of an already full Caravaggio.
This is a reprint of work originally published in Boston Poetry Magazine.
Ana Maria Caballero currently lives in Bogotá, Colombia with her husband and nine-month-old son. During her son’s naps, she created a blog – http:/www.thedrugstorenotebook.co – where she shares her poems and love of literature.