Weave of Life's Fabric

Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust Polished now in the hallway, my fond antique Recalling Grandaunt’s delicate craftwork-- Each pattern of fabric threaded with zest, As her hands would bounce around pinpoint needles, Weaving an array of doilies rugs garments Intently absorbed in a foot pedal’s rhythm That her hums trailed beyond Nam’s bombings : The war years seemed like only yesterday, Calming her through spindles of moon’s quick cycle . Along each evening’s gloss, we rollicked laughed Exchanging banters like friends… till she crossed over : Tonight, I gently pat her own quilt laying on my bedside, Lining our decades of sweet remembrances… For a moment, my eyes gazed at stars’ fading wicker, The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark. Viv Wigley’s Contest: One nine and sixteen Written 5/1/2018