The Good Seamstresses of Nine

A hush came over the room as the seamstresses
started sewing, butterfly class not at all obsolete
on State Planet Orion Nine, United Federation.
Each perspicacious stitch led to the living, a life,
a butterfly, wings lithe, delicate, beats stirring
air, a once airborne moth creature ala natural
selection’s rules, but the genesis here was a
platinum needle and DNA thread culled
from ovoid spores prolific on Nine,
used with alacrity as white-masked
seamstresses, all in powder blue
raiment, rowed like tomato
plants, (and said ladies, with
a hint of God-power syndrome,
thimble-pierced with the vision of an
Orion hawk), patterned the stirring of
being (butterfly) looping DNA thread into
tiny organs, into cartilage, into delicate
ribs networking the silky expanse
that is the butterfly wing. 

The ladies, like maestros, darning not, but sewing true
due to the assigned species (Pulsar-Cat Swallowtail),
and one bony, redhead with glasses named Hannah
remarked, “Oh, it is the butterfly of the day.”  Hardly
blinking from the glare of the overhead rectangular lights,
and with the soft hum of the climate controls keeping room
temperature at seventy four degrees, each seamstress had
her own etui, needle sizes like drill bits but a lot more
than the average set of bits.  A plethora of needle rows,
and color coded, too, because of biologic diversity.

From flagellum to vein, each lady labored long, and with Nine
pride, and with a conscientious and professional attitude, and
with love.  Ten o’clock found them all gathered in the break
room, their work stations protected by clear drop shields,
much like the Cone of Silence from Get Smart.  While
the good seamstresses of Nine sipped Nine O’clock
Coffee or Orion Peach Tea, they put thoughts of
creating butterflies aside, and with unbridled
glee, gabbed about the latest episode of the
soap opera, As Orion Turns.


40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp Winner
7-10-16