[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

[Knitting A Conundrum]

We are chasing nostalgia today....

Here is a recreation of a sad poem I wrote in 1983:
(not currently reflective of my mood, marriage, level of happiness or sense of peace. Wrote it when I was in college, lost it, and have tried to recapture it)

We all build walls, it seems, she said.

The rose,
the rose he handed her
falls apart,
scattering its petals
like leaves in an autumn breeze
until nothing is left
but a dry leaf
and a thorny stem
and a memory
of something beautiful gone forever.

We all build walls, it seems, she said.

1983/2005