When did we cease being

Wide eyed and curious

Of this velvety world

Not ever

Shouts blue rinsed grandmother

And sings her baudy war songs

To the chip chop chop of her brothers clumsy accompaniment

On stairwell piano with missing ivory

It was said

Parlor tricks began with family visits

Light a cone of newspaper on your head

A second from setting fire to your hair

There were jugglers in the house

Catching Xmas clementines by the handful

And ladies whose pure voices lifted up sagging furniture

Such the gratitude of survival

Friends of shared blood and homemade eye patches

When did we cease lighting candles to cast a glow

Making magic of things otherwise ignored

Not ever

Today, everyone is dressed in threadbare finery

Auditioning for heaven, the old ones say

And all I thought of was the last licorice stick

Staining the inside of my mouth like forbidden wish

We remain alive by sheer will, it is the rush of nature

To keep us tethered by thinnest string, weaving our own



13 thoughts on “Tapestry

  1. I share with you, glass raised, “the gratitude of survival” – and the knowing that for you *baudy*, alter-spelled, is the kin of ‘gaudy’ (and what is gaudier than war?)

    I do peek in on you sometimes, dear heart. And am, for ever, amazed.

    Disenchantment furls her fairy wings about you in this dark season. Me? I am busy at my loom, but thankful for your words whenever I emerge. ❤

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