They sit behind an old-fashioned Singer,
bolts of fabric against the wall.
Little daughter flutters her lashes and asks
for a frock that looks like cake.
They snip and shape until it is frothing with lace and
chiffon and smooth strips of velvet in bright blue.
In the sewing room, they hum as if
still in the womb, and the father sings
from behind the door.