Building the Line

“Chain ten more” nanny says as we sit,

And I watch as her hands
single crochet, double, treble, popcorn and
Cluster stitch lifeless yarn into lustrous intricate design.
Watching is part of the process, as did my aunts
And so mother as well.
We are learning to grow with her on our shoulders.
Small, damp fingers fumbling with sticky wool
Until they move steady and the string flows like water through my palms.
When I have one-hundred chains
I teach cousin how to chain
And we sit quietly as time grows on
She, watching my hands
I, watching nanny’s hands
As we slowly build her up.



*This is my poetry. Please do not copy the text, reuse it or plagiarize. Thanks!

Isabel, Daughter of Abra

The space in time won’t thwart your aging cries,
Her flesh, like fire, it seemed a sin to hold.
And though your hearth in embers ever dies,
Your babe remained unguarded in the cold.

Your daughter’s cinders grew and flamed in anger,
Forever veiling frost too chill to bear.
And now to her you will remain a stranger,
Begging He to spare her in your prayers.

He says you must see Him before your child,
So her His way you showed as best you could.
But her soul remained as dang’rous as the Wild,
So you to her will stay misunderstood.

His path you step to enlighten all mankind,
The one you cherish most forever blind.


*This is my poetry. Please do not copy the text, reuse it or plagiarize. Thanks!