I see you have found it nestled between hankies and scarves,
the small round tin, smooth edged, tactile.
It fits in the hand like a stress ball, turning, turning,
fit for purpose, easy to slip into handbag or case.
And just in case you need it I will give it to you;
maybe you will use it for I never have
just opened the lid to look in, finger the contents
and re-live the horror of needlework lessons in school.
The yellow paper tape measure has never been unfolded,
the needles are still shiny new and sharp,
the tiny buttons that probably don’t go with anything
are still affixed to the see-through plastic sleeve.
I replace the lid. The tin is black like the mood that came
over me in lessons. I don’t know why I kept it. I had others
equally unused but I liked its compactness, a ‘ready-to-
travel’ helper which never went anywhere.
So, take it, my friend and get some use out of it,
give it a good home, one where it will be loved,
its contents opened, cotton unraveled from the grey
cardboard holder, pins pinned and needles threaded.