Monday, February 16, 2009

"Mama, can you make a fort?"


Strange the threads of letters, posted
in fragile hope of weaving durable blankets,
and if perchance shared – like the tinkly laughter
of children under a supper table.

A stitch is dropped, the weft twisted,
and yardage runs short the lengths required
of a fort fit for the giggles – and the solemn craft
of lonely spinning begins again.


© 2008 Marcy Stoeckel

5 comments:

  1. perfect memories, time to pull out the blankets! Thanks! Cindy

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  2. So few words, so much metaphor. I like it very much.

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  3. Oh, if the quilts in my closet could talk! I see everything from childhood games, protective slumbers, nurturing moments, to passion and fires blazing. You took me many places with so few lines. Poetry at its best does this, transports us, touches something personal within us. We're pretty egotistical beings - to always make poems about our own lives, but I did just that with this one. I think this will go on the poetry wall I am building in my office. Your poem "The Writer" is already there and I'm happily printing and taping this beside it.

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  4. Thank you all so much. I'm so lucky to come across such great people.

    And Bryan, I don't even know what to say. I feel quite honored to be a part of your poetry wall.

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