Sunday, January 11

Open Road to Home

cotton batting clouds
eclipse a clear blue sky
white thread of a contrail stitches
a quilt of contrast

sets my mind to wondering
how many hands to quilt the sky
how many generations of women
bent over a frame

lowered from the ceiling by pulleys
after the table's been moved
after the chairs made their music,
scraping a tune across the hardwood floor

i should keep my eye on the road
but that sky, that crazy quilted sky
sets my mind to wandering
down the open road to home

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