I’m product of the mill                

As they are of me—

We’re interwoven,

Like cotton, wool, and lace

Spun by young women

Standing at looms

Long hours,                                                              

Regardless of their time of the month             

…migraines…

Or unrelenting pregnancies….

They’re ancestral sisters

Who believed themselves ‘ lucky’

To tend machines

That produced such fine material

For garments they could ne’er-afford

For people they’d never know.

Instead, they were grateful

For their almost-living wage.

If they wove fabric, I weave words…

From “In the Shadow of Princes” (in production)

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