Last year's curious crop
(the people of my mind)
have all been born.
carried into the world on a wave of thread and paint,
cloth and crochet,
lace and love.
The urgency of the maker leaves me now.
resting in the chilling hours,
sleeping long among the untidy bundles at the pedal of the Thread Pusher,
donning her nightgown and yawning loudly,
resting in the chilling hours.
She sleeps.
and like a child who stands beside a parent's bed,
who hestitates to wake a Mother from a slumber,
my restless fingers poke the sleeping maker,
my imaginary friend.
"Lie STill," she says, "Rest!"
"REST!"
I fear its "Rust," say I. Knowing that fear will not wake the spring.
not wake the sleeping maker,
I must honor the waiting.
I wait to sew the curious crop.
(The people of my mind.)
They will be carried into the world
on a wave of thread and paint,
cloth and crochet,
lace and love.
Robin Ridener 2013
3 comments:
Oh I love this, bravo Robin, wonderful words......xox
Very cleverly said. Rest now...
Robin my dear, you makes your telling of every day worries, and problems, a wonderful, and so : YEAAAA I SEE MYSELF ,here, novel!!- for me to follow some of your inner speaks with yourself,- and certainly to feel as your twinn is a gift, as I can`t express it as fantastic as you do ,my wonderful friend.
If only we could have this experiensed together! :-)
Love you also today-
your Dorthe
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