Hems Of The Heart Tomorrow Poem by Emmanuel Acheampong

Over the edges of a dress I sew
And the fold in its gathers fit
With the purls ready to go
So I wrap around and around until I sit
As I fake the drawstrings of her sylphlike girth
Stitch and knit to the Lady Mistress
Then I become the only man in front the mirror mirth
And hackneyed; “Save the damsel in distress”.
For she will praise the maker of this luscious forgery
But Milady luck finally comes from the Gale
After a selvedge comes to save me from treachery
As her living steps leave no trail
And to the seas that would be a shipwreck:
The uneven hemlines drying the runnels
And breaking free from the webs around my neck
In the streams of a ball string that channels.
And alike is the herringbone of this line
For it is hereupon I fear to reveal the loth
But I know the secret of the hem is well mine
So the treads for darning lay safe in the coat
As I fasten with a rivet through her slit not to shudder
From the narrow hasting of sludge not made slovenly
Until a silver light in a gown longs to travel farther
Through the seams and for whom I sing lovingly.
I knitted my heart in argyle pattern rows
But first patched them to the hem
In a crinoline crochet no soul knows
Like tussocks I had held firm.
But I begin to lose admiration of the lotus:
My beautiful Mistress for whom I sew sadly on a bard
As I had stood before this very locus
But a man of my passion could not trade for a royal guard.
But I know I knit my best as I give all
So I could stand a chance with this royal heir
Wishing by the morn I would have gotten her call
Then finally greet an angel from whence ‘twere.
As I still love to think I was on course
To shake hands with Grace and part
But what can a knitter say of long laid laws?
Though I can hear the sounds and pouting of my heart.
The gaps in this garment threaten the knell
But I still hem this dress above all feat
So she can tell the eagles of my done-well
For I sadly know never twain shall we meet.