Découpage

I am tired again.
I have lists and lists
of things to do. I take up
the juvenile art of
collaging.

This helps my hands feel
as if they have produced
something. Perhaps
they will sleep at night
instead of strumming
with regret.

I cannot cut straight edges.
This requires a tool.
I am buying tools for
an art I performed in
elementary school.

The woman at the store asks me
if I’m working on decoupage, and
I don’t understand her, even
though I speak French.

But what have I saved up
all of these scraps of
fabric and paper and buttons for
if not this?

It’s true, I kept them
knowing there would be this
return, this curving to childhood
pastimes.

My grandmother tells me
she would collage anything
when she was a housewife.