Lockstitch Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Like a floated
sipping
hummingbird,

its tail
a rotor spinning
at 100 mph,

as it gulps
down
nectar drawn
from
a hibiscus
flower's nipple,

a bobbin
feeds
and loops

a threaded
needle
with
another
dancing thread

to scamper off
down
the chalked
line of a seam.

(ii)

As thread flies,
creeping
through
to claw-grip

edges
with pigeon
feathers,

its double
with squirrel
teeth
to shut up slat
cracks,

close doors
and windows
and hung
yawning attics
on sewn cloth

built
by a shrieking
chainstitch,


leaving
a hundred more
fissures

a lockstitch
must lock
and bolt, as it
sews its
tight grip.

(iii)

The hummingbird
of a sewing
machine full
of nectar

from the close
petals
of its flower,

the hibiscus
blowing
into its trumpet
for the numen

closes up
all shaky threads,

leaving
no sunny cleft,
no starred
twinkling slit,
and no eyelet
for a slim
feather of light

and no deep burrow
of a gap
to let mole
of air and cloud
dive through

without trapping
itself
in the lockstitch
no sun can pierce.