for M.C.R. 1896-1975
Nearly My Oldest Memory
No day shall erase you from the memory of time.
Virgil
Something about the clouds this morning,
A long thin expanse unfolding across sky
Just settling now into its first light, and I
Can see now as clearly as then her tissue-
Paper dress pattern being spread across
Blue muslin, smoothing it flat and pinning
Around faint blue lines that seemed then
And still pieces of some impossible puzzle
Until she cuts them and fits each together
In its turn under the needle and foot of
The sewing machine where her own foot
Rises and falls on the treadle and the other
Taps to the tune of each measured stitch,
Swaying with the rhythm; the only time
In all those years I ever saw her dance.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 1059 times
Written on 2015-09-27 at 01:11
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