for M.C.R.  1896-1975

Nearly My Oldest Memory

No day shall erase you from the memory of time.





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 1034 times
Written on 2015-09-27 at 01:11

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Beautiful. We had one of those old machines in our shed when we were growing up. I wish I had it now. What a wonderful machine. The man who invented it (Elias Howe) came up with the idea in a dream. He was being attacked by people who had spears with eyes and thread at the point which stabbed him and made stitches. You have written a fine piece here :)

josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
I can only say... Simply beautiful

Good stuff!!

Beautiful, it reminds me of my mother, an expert seamstress, she had a treadle sewing machine, a pleasure to watch and listen to, one of my early memories, thanks.

An absolutely beautiful image perfectly painted in words.
It's about as perfect a poem as I can imagine.

Perfect ending for a lovely poem. I always struggle with endings in my poems. Very envious.

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
This is so descriptive, crystalline and quiet that it reminds me of the work of another painter, Vermeer. It's beautiful.