The Night Shift

There’s a reason women quilt.

Their time is shredded
before it’s handed to them,
before they’re told to
make something of it.

Painstakingly they work
after the kids have gone to bed,
and the man has been fed.
Pricked out of their own sleep,
they rise at the threat
of the threaded needle
to piece together
organzas of stanzas,
doublets of couplets –
forging a whole out of bits
of nothing.

If you look closely, you’ll see
revolution in the stitches.

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