My mother had a sewing box of some light-colored wood
Finegrained and with a slanted oval knot in its lid.
Opening the brass-hinged lid raised up tiers of spools
Arranged by thread-color, some with needles stuck in them.
(If there was no black when needed, dark blue could be used
But her conscience would be troubled.) There was a pin cushion
Made to look like a ripe tomato and three thimbles;
The heaviest one, dull silver, was never used except to distract me
If my mother needed to think and sew at the same time.
There were pictures on it, almost rubbed away --
A crescent moon, a long-haired woman with a spear,
Two cats, a boat being rowed through the air.
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