Lloyd is healthy, eats well, goes to the gym. He was made with very worn fabric, the holes sit right his chest. He uses his big furry arms to cover them. If someone commented, he rages. One day, he decided to go from weight lifting to hugging. He hugged me. His heart beats right through the hole.
Made of a drab badminton club tee, Stan was always overlooked. No matter, in his red boots and pompoms, he cheers when the sun is up, cheers when it rains, cheers when he doesn’t know which way the wind blows.
Fragments of a pair of striped shorts butted against one another, each pointing in different directions. Zsa zsa follows every one of them. Everyday south east north west, today even up a mountain. She closes her eyes. Stilled. She anchors herself to a cloud, drifts only to the voice of her heart.
She used to be a bathrobe, then a draft stopper. Yellow, black and white terry loops find their place on her randomly. A black streak runs down the centre of her face. The thick chunky cotton unravels as I stitched, loops and fringes tangled. Appearances are nothing but. Lilibeth’s mind is clear as day.
Everything shows through the pink of her skin. Even if she tried she couldn’t hide what’s on her mind. She blushes when embarrassed by her transparency made more transparent by her blushing. Actually no one noticed, they know Paeonia for her nice smile.
Perhaps it’s the double hem stitch on his face, or the 6 geometric patterns that he’s made of. He likes keeping track of the birds that passed by, and the number of eucalyptus leaves he’s had. 1,2,3,4,1,2,3,;. He l can’t count pass 4 because I only have him 4 fingers. His glass is always full. A confused but contented little boy Navin is.
Other beakies were getting furry ears, nice arms and photos taken, but he alone was left on the shelf. He found his way to my work desk and rummaged the pile. He puts on a purple shoulder guard, a yellow chest plate and a red bandana and hopped off the desk into the sunset. I waved, the door’s always opened, Frank!
A cat print caged in candy pink stripes, magenta tangled tassels, and traffic stopping orange that wouldn’t normally belong together, are held together by my tight stitches. Due to differences in character and socialpolitical preferences, each material try to get away from another. Jasper got up and twisting those fabrics, dancing to traffic. When he turns around, I see on his back flowers bloom.
I must have been tense while stitching her.
After all the pieces were joined, and seams stitched down, she was no where near the size I anticipated.
I packed a few more pounds onto her posterior with odd shapes left on the desk.
Then I made limbs for the bigger koala still in my mind.
Her limbs are strong and soft, big and flexible.
She hangs on. She lets go. She measures time not according to any system built for others.
Her name is Eugenia.