A hundred skeins of yarn
Unraveling in a quiet orchestra
of colors
haunting maroons, deep blues, muted pinks
burning browns, feathered yellows…
Falling from the ceiling, infinite release
Essence t h r e a d s
Like morbid talismans, proof that she exists
Suspended in perfectly soft, palatable air
Curated space designed to leave her nude,
exposing milk white bone
Mockingly held by someone's vision:
Smoked mackerel left in the hot sun
To cure
Artisanal craft, worth defined by a pretty penny
Somehow more sincere than theater
in its intense
stillness
She wanted…
Someone to gather her pieces
And hold them close
like a lost kitten
Against a caring chest
Instead of devouring it like a p a s s i n g
exhibit to be lost in
memories.
About the Creator
Michele Nampalli
This space is breath for my sensitivity. The poems come fully formed. I've known for quite some time now that my art is about receiving more than creation...its the most natural way I know to process my inner world. It started when I was 7.
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More stories from Michele Nampalli and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Dart at Dusk
Seconds ago, the sullen sun set on the two of us… my exuberant furry companion and me. A fresh breeze embraces us, delivering welcome relief from the day’s oppressive heat. His typical stumbling and staggering along — apace with a sloth — has turned into trip-trapping, high-stepping, almost skipping along.
By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶about 20 hours ago in Petlife
Comments (1)
You have such a talent for weaving beautiful descriptions into your mesmerizing poetry. I loved this piece. It made me think of my Aunt who never goes anywhere without a bundle of colorful yarn and her crochet hooks. Her afghans and puppets fill many houses, always a reminder of her love and labor.