I kept the photograph with Clara cut out of it. The scissors were mine, from the sewing basket.
On the mantel is a candle shaped like a seven. That was the birthday she never came home for.
This week the clocks fall back. I lose an hour of daylight but gain an hour of waiting.
In my sewing basket, there's a spool of coral pink thread. I bought it for her dress.
I thought I was keeping her close. But I was just keeping the space where she used to be.
Today I took out the photograph. I laid it on the cutting table next to a scrap of the same fabric.
I didn't sew her back in. I just put the pieces together, edge to edge, and let them rest.
I am a seamstress. I know how to mend. But some things are meant to be held, not fixed.