SHARP needle pokes
from a BLOCK of fabric
A bird sings, so sad and
yet so beautiful, an ELEGY
to summer’s end
Fallen leaves rustle, seeds
float on a breeze
Hands move swift and sure,
needle flashing as
thread colors LIVEN up the dull
browns and grays
A scene worthy of a TITLE:
“Woman Sewing in the Garden”

Georg’ann

For little me.

GLORY, that rarely used word.
Takes me to Cricket Magazine
a recipe for Hallelujah Biscuits
with the instructions to knead
while singing Glory, Glory, Hallelujah.
SMILE at my 9 year old self, alone
in the sunny apartment kitchen.
Tiny yet expansive, up on a hill
with its windows east and north.
A simple wooden table painted
bright yellow, chipping and rickety,
tucked under the north window.
Turn from sink or stove, find
her surface ready to receive.
Singing loudly, arms in marching
motion as hands work the dough.
Kittens curling around my ANKLE.
TITLE this memory, Praise be.

Heather