My sweater is torn.
And its January. She can sew.
She taught herself on a Sunday afternoon last July.

My sleeve caught on the door handle as I left.
It was trying to stop me,
Hold me back, teach me a lesson.

The handle took my button.
I didn’t care. I could go back and get it.
But not today. I’ll fix it.

Stars, toggles, squares,
Pink, blue, white, navy.
I find a grey circle.

The thread finds its way
Through the four chambers
Of the button.

Atrium to ventricle.
Ventricle to atrium.
I double knot it.

She can sew.
I didn’t care.
And now I wear my button on my sleeve.