At the Museum of Everyday Life

The theme this month: scissors. Last month:
knots. From the plinths, in our hands, storks
slide their legs back & forth, make tiny cuts of air
& mimic striding, lifting their laden beaks,
deliberate movements an upward charge
into a darkened sky—wings, full-blown.
When you’re serious about your sewing & crafting,
you should be serious about your cutting, too.
Stork scissors: birds, molded thin blades
as beaks; their eyes, a screw at the pivot point;
each body the curvature of handles; the legs rounded
holes, one for thumb, one for pointer & middle.
The result—scissors & shears of uncompromising quality
that will bring you years of cutting pleasure. Dear metal birds,
tell us the difference in feeling between cutting
fabric or flesh, about the midwives who carried
you in their kits. Blades through the slick of newness,
the skin’s first brush with oxygen. Cut of the cord,
a silent snip. Take wholeness & pull it apart
to codify a sum of parts. Tell us so the “I” can fly
forth, so I can individuate from the flock
& with this act of separation, take flight
from any vantage. Which is to say, if I break
my habit of believing in the myths, in babies
borne to mothers from storks, in metaphor at all,
what could be different. What might make sense.