i.
Lacemaker with bone bobbins:
braided mesh with slim, oval leaves.
Plum on black silk.
As the bobbins twist together
plait the threads —
elderly ward at the St-Jérôme Hospital.
I imagine Grandmother Mariska,
late into the night —
sewing your mortuary dress:
Tiny silver buttons.
Buttonholes,
lace ruffles as for a child.
Carpathian Mountains,
by the river Mures,
white-washed adobe house.
Greatgrand-father György deserting the family.
Victoria farmed out her daughter.
Kept her three sons.
Four years of grade school.
Servant girl at nine.
ii.
Late into the night —
you sew your burial gown:
tiny silver buttons.
Bobbin lace.
Laurentian foothills ridge:
You died of diabetes
after one year at the St-Jérôme Hospital.
I didn’t go to your funeral.
Didn’t tell you, my husband beats me.
Late into the night.
Tiny silver buttons.
Peasant lace: