Missing Elegy For Mary Remember me-- embroidered above a heart sewn crooked on creased linen. With crude silk you stitched a table set untouched—glasses full and chairs pulled out but empty as the house you once lived in. I wonder if your mother shook her head at your off-centre heart. I wonder if your fingers wavered when the needle needed re-threading. Mary, why can’t you sew straight— she’d scold, clenching all the linen you wasted. You’d steady your hands, shut your mouth tight, and try once more. Remember me. I wonder if you cried out to Christ because you knew you’d be forgotten like that undrunk wine or the house you once lived in—a girl with futile hands, trembling fingers useless to wrinkled linen and a needle crooked as those lines of verse where you dreamt of a grave’s salvation. Grace Celi Grace Celi (she/her) is currently pursuing a B.A. in Creative Writing at Franklin & Marshall College. She is originally from Brooklyn, New York. Her recent work is forthcoming in Beyond Queer Words and Prairie Margins.
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July 2025
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