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The Seamstress

She cut people
From the cloth
And dressed them
In paper
Scribbling expressions
Of life
In wild crayon
Across their skin
She stitched tightly- lipped
Mouths
So they would be careful
Of what they said
For want of splitting
Their faces
And odd buttons
For every eye
Sometimes one
Sometimes three
To excuse
The double-vision
Of all the others
Some shiny
Some dull
To stop anyone thinking
A sparkle
Was anything more
Than a reflection of light
She weighted
Their empty heads
With stars
So they could dream
Inside and
Outside
Of themselves
And finally she spread
Them all
Across her patchwork carpet
Of grass and seeds
And called her
Blustery friend
To breathe into them
Life
Before dispersing them
To the six corners
Of a different world
And then she waited
Patiently
To see
If they behaved
Any differently

◄ The Burden

Bobbing for Apples ►

Comments

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Sat 6th Sep 2014 15:31

You are so well-versed your poems are journeys in themselves, philosophies in miniscule. What more can you ask of poetry? I so enjoyed 'spirit - wind - breath- life - etc.'


What does Twilbury Wist mean? Anything to do with tapestry? Just a wild guess.

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