[Knitting A Conundrum]

Words like threads

I send to you these words,
wound up like silk threads
on a bobbin,
shiny, and soft,
where you can see the twist
helixing around in shimmery spirals.

I send you these words,
like threads wound about a shuttle,
ready to be woven in and out
as the fabric is made,
too weak perhaps for warp,
but perfect for weft.

I send you these words,
like linen thread, sunbleached
in the afternoon light, strong,
pliable, utilitarian.
With them sew up your memories
into a cloth
bright, perhaps, in the light.

Sometime in 2001

[Soaring Feather]

In my cloth book of memories
the little ones ragged diapers
a shred or two still hold together
the frame of that time so long ago.

Four little ones I raised
with no disposable nappies then
I washed them all with care and hung
them all around.

The old dresser holds a dress from
each of them, though now aged in time
the memories brighter each year
of the little ones who wore the garment
everywhere.

The baby books now belong to them
their history recorded there
the little bracelets worn by them
still in my dresser drawer.

The fabric of their live I wove
thread by thread each day
and hoped that it would hold them strong
when I was away.

bentfeather (c)
12/30/05