My mother saved wrapping paper folded in neat angles and put away for never The tear should be made on the left side, over the heart Hundred of buttons in a deep, metal tin Made vertically, beginning near the neck, and extend down about three inches I took lessons at Singer Sewing Machine The initial cut may be made with a knife but then should be torn by the hand of the mourner My fingers barely dodged needles my feet propelled The tear should not be made along a seam; it must appear a purposeful scar in the clothing and not merely an accidental unthreading My daughter keeps used wrap in a drawer One is permitted to mend the tear crookedly after shivah Puts ribbons to use in her hair After the first thirty days, one is permitted to perform a regular mend, straight mend In collage, at her waist For one’s parents, a crooked mend The paper adorns her dolls’ shoebox homes One who chooses never to mend the tear is praiseworthy
The middle of night when the call comes A regular mend, forbidden forever She mourns when it rips.
Patty Seyburn has published four books of poems; her most recent is “Perfecta” (What Books Press, 2014). She is an associate professor at CSU Long Beach.
