spider grandmother

she is always knitting her nest,

the spider grandmother, in shades

of brown. a recluse, yes, and 

several star-children wrapped in silk or

all the women I could have loved

trapped in woven comfort by her

tiny fingers. she is porcelain

whispers, fragile to the ear. she is

the end of a candle that fed

our family. she is always

knitting her nest.

Reviews

[victoria]

A wonderful poem, woven with a matriachal thread''she is porcelain whispers, fragile to the ear'' such a fine line (pardon the pun)

[p.kuhl]

thank you, miss =)