Thursday, November 01, 2007

Troublemaker by Wilson Diehl

Every family has one -- usually the one
who writes, the one who spills family secrets
onto the page like so much grape juice
on beige carpet -- creating continent-shaped
stains that are slow to fade and never disappear
entirely.

Brocaded Life (For Eden) by Hagar Shirman

from Poetry on the Bus

My mother's hands are silken gloves
Woven of the warmest thread,
Embroidered by the day, year, life.

Each caress a flower,
A vine ...
Strength etched in lines.

For this I strive,
This tapestry of life accomplished:
Instead of gold, a softly callused cloth.