søndag 9. september 2012

Sunday Poetry - My Grandmother's Needlework


As I unwind the yarn
to begin another
winter shawl,

I look up
at the frayed
tip of the thread

in the sampler cloth
where my grandmother created
a barefoot girl

holding a bowl
of lemons,
her hair

braided back,
an oval of vines
around her,

tiny leaves
not quite closing
at the bottom

a space of
untatted white perhaps
a gate ajar

where her sadness
or dreams
by Andrea Potos

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