threads of memory

At this time of year, the rural hedgerows and urban edgerows froth with white lacy flowers.

I’m not sure I know the difference between cow parsley and cow parsnip, wild carrot and hogweed, chervil and hemlock, or a host of other white-flowered umbellifers, but they always trigger a singsong voice in my head:

Queen Anne’s lace, Queen Anne’s lace,
You’ll find it growing all over the place

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it’s complicated

I’ve posted this poem before, but this time I have a photo to go with it.

bobbin lace close up

Lacemaker



You sit, bent over the pillow;

beaded memories

click back and forth.


Deftly, you weave silk threads:

over, under, twist and hitch;

under, over, pin and twist.


Beneath your fingers

a brass forest grows

shrouded in gossamer.

 
(In the photo, the forest is silver rather than brass, but I think it still illustrates the point.)
Continue reading “it’s complicated”