.. you were delivered by mail yesterday..

( a new collaboration. words by anon, new york. it remains personal)

artwork -sonja benskin mesher. wales.




You were delivered by mail yesterday

aired out all the way from the UK

customs stamped as fabric and hand printed,

neat and thoughtful and delicate, “SBM”.


I’m reminded that you are a gift, package

bubbled and fine string double wrapped with all the trouble

of hands meant to rethread the openings in space that

do not exist.  You do, and you are not found on the inside,

you are the wrapping and the shipping and packing

and worn box and the perfectly placed

loose safety pin within.

I cannot open it with my inept thumbs,

eight shaky other fingers, and a mind that lost its breath.


The art in this is context and content alike,

like affect and effect between the sheets

and shades and skin and light.   She will

open it as new, feeling for keeps

the same attention and care

the title of the piece demands


I close the box trying to preserve what

I had nearly undone.   I can’t.  My K will

know the difference and call me out for

  1. “You retied that string didn’t you”. Of

course I did, I thought it was, but you are art

and I neglected in my rummaging it wasn’t.

Or was it?


And that is the appositeness of us.

Art and string and parchment and pins

and red human intersections and an empty box

with clichéd words on top, finding a non-place

where needle tips and threads

have no fabric or skin to sew

or souls to mend.


anon. new york.












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