There are so many memories that I try to push out of my mind. And yet, when I find myself actually losing some, I regret forgetting, especially when trying to piece together stories from years ago.
Sometimes, when the memories are too recent or too painful, I pack them away in drawers, like dresses and skirts put away for the winter or sweaters and coats put away for the summer. And when I go to retrieve them, if I find that some have been lost, misplaced or eaten by moths, I weave and knit around them to make them whole again. I embellish with imaginations and would-have-beens. A new sweater. A better story. A fragmented memory stitched and bandaged into a caricature of its former self.