Heres a poem by Barbara Presnell from her book Piece Work. Hope to see you Saturday at 4 p.m. at the T.E.A. Factory, 580 Willow St, Reading, for Barbaras reading. Happy Birthday, Barbara! Pauline Learns to Sew When I come back from having babies they put me on sewing. I could no more sew a straight line than I could milk a chicken but the other ladies helped me, showed me how to set the needle in the cloth to make a turn, pull my thread to the side so it wouldnt jam up in the bobbin. I wont say I ever was much good at it, but nobodyd accuse me a not trying. A lifetime, it seems. Husband, three kids growed. Mama passed. Went from T-shirts and boxers to sweatshirts then collars then elastic. One day, outta the blue, they unbolted the machines, loaded them in trucks, hauled em down to Mexico or someplace. Nothing left on second floor but concrete and empty bolt holes. We was like family, us sewers. Youd a thought we lost a brother or sister, the weight we felt, grief tangling up among us. Youd find broke needles in corners for a while after, lengths a thread. Ladies getting old by then just retired. Young ones, they got on somewhere else in the mill, some other machine. Didnt lose nobody from it, not really. Took our spirit, thats all. You can work a 8-hour shift without spirit, but it aint half worth it, you know?
Posted on: Tue, 08 Apr 2014 15:02:52 +0000
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