i don’t remember learning how to sew. the same way i don’t
remember learning how to be a girl in love with a girl. but, yeah,
that’s true, i learned to do both for real last year. i sewed her into all
my new clothes. as i bought an embroidery hoop i told her about it,
a day by day narration
of a million tiny transformations. i stitched everything
with thoughts of her twined into my thread.
we bought necklaces together
and i tucked mine into every outfit. something celestial, something
to be seen. now it dangles in my jewelry box
waiting to be uncoupled from eighteen months of memories,
waiting to reemerge from the chrysalis as a gift from an old friend,
a souvenir from another age.
as this new unmoored self i walk dressed in skin she has touched
and sometimes i think i carry her
fingerprints like tattoos seared into my flesh.
but i do not begrudge my body to have been hers and i do not
begrudge her compliments their invisible hand in my art. the
same way i would secure a new patch onto an old shirt, i am
reworking my feelings into friendship.
transformation cannot purge the past
but i don’t mind
because something that beautiful deserves
a place on my sleeve.
A white queer person with red hair sits in front of a window. Their head is tilted to the left. They are wearing a blue button down shirt under a green vest.
About the Author
Sarah Blankespoor (she/they) started writing poetry at age 7, kicking off a lifetime-long love affair with beautiful words. These days, they mostly write about water, travel, and the people they love. She lives on California’s Central Coast, where she is studying public health. About a year ago, they picked up a needle and thread, and their fashion has been getting steadily gayer and more authentic ever since. Find her on Instagram @stonefilled.