Needlepoint

It might as well be my shroud.

Confusion of tapestry woven daily
in knobbly hues, threads pulled straight
when ease marks the course, twisted
and frayed when impaired;

How many acres of worries it covers!
Like prayer beads worn shiny with use,
stitched string upon string
until unnerved, I buckle under its bulk.

I want to conceal every footpath,
leaving no trace, a sandstorm scouring
undulating desert dunes. Instead, tracks
are buried, grooved deep into grey matter,
waiting in the wings, seeking flight
on thermals of my liberation.

2015-03-04 14.38.21
image: 2015, Santa Cruz, CA

8 thoughts on “Needlepoint

  1. What a profound way of weaving your thoughts and emotions! Loved it Bela. You have captured and encased them in wonderful imagery…the best one, to my mind is that of ‘desert dunes’…ever shifting, expanding and so alluring!

    Thank you for nudging me here to read and delve into another aspect of emotional furrows, they may be buried yet keep shaking us! πŸ™‚

  2. I think this photo and thoughts left an impression on my mind for quite some time, Bela. Being a bit superstitious wanted to say, it makes me nervous when people talk about their “shroud” with details of death. Knock on wood! xo
    I came back to worry about this, sharing my thoughts!

    1. Aww, Robin, sorry for your discomfort. To me at least, superstition smacks of fear, and I’m one to face both light and darkness with open eyes. That way, there’s nothing to fear, really. All is accepted as valid and part of experience. I’m a gardener, so death and renewal are simply part of the bargain, and Lord, what would I do without compost!? Blessings, Robin ❀

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