Note: When I first learned of this holiday celebrated in Japan, I loved how it honored their broken needles because they had been there for countless women and now contained their joys and sorrows.  How Buddhist to think of our sewing needles as having souls.
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The Festival of Broken Needles
Haru-Kuyo, February 8, Japan


Today, I force myself to write
instead of quilt, to rest my needle.

I thank her by slipping her
into a soft cake of tofu. Only she

knows my sorrows, how I grit my teeth
whenever our silence is broken,

by my squalling little cat
or my jubilant dog, who insists

on another walk. My needle
waits out these daily disruptions.

Stitch, stitch, stitch, she comforts,
so what if your husband and you

still live separately, just stitch
geometric shapes cut from fabric

and sew them together,
as if they never parted.