the same stitch.
stolen on a
shelf of stories
from before stories
were stolen and put
on shelves.
we are weaving with
the same stitch.
recognising Echoes of
black hands pulling
the same strands into
the same shapes with
the same stitch.
my hands look white
as they bring together
these baskets, but
we are weaving with
the same stitch.
the same stitch…
in my basket,
in my blood,
in my skin…
woven together with
the same stitch.
woven strong into
our Women -
old Women and
new Women, woven
together with the
same stitch.
*Poems and artworks by Sara Kian-Judge 2021
Comments