The shape of her hands
is the shape of my longing
as she digs into the earth.
She finds the small toys
that burrowed into the soil
next to the vegetables.
In her kitchen, she cradles the cut
from the knife,
her sister brought over
because she needed something
sharper
in case, in case
the vegetables were picked
too raw.
Her family at the table.
Her pockets full of memories,
sagging towards the floor
as she reaches for beets.
Outside, she buried time capsules
with the quiet pieces of her
life – the crayon, the Barbie
doll head, the pocket of a uniform.
My longing is bent toward itself.
Toys unearthed, stacked into a basket.
Poet’s Note
“Time capsule” began with the idea of tracing the shape of a hand. That shape is engraved in memories of working in the garden. Physical memories are also buried in the garden. The poem was written first. Then, I looked for a vintage garden fabric that could serve as a skirt. The top of the dress represents a basket in which vegetables and memories are collected. The rope is rough to the touch and encourages one to trace the shape with their fingers. Textile art is my medium. I like that it bridges craft and art. I also like that the dress can embody the voice in the poem.