Tapestry

I remember the soft scratch of her slippers
Upon our kitchen’s cheap linoleum floor

A gentle, apologetic, caring kind of friction

A carpenter's finishing touches

Using the finest grain sandpaper

To smooth the surface of a final masterpiece

When I think of these countless small journeys

She made across our kitchen floor

I’m reminded too of a precious toy

Faber Castell's "Lots O Loops"

I use to feverishly weave upon

With so much raw purpose

Slaving over its miniature plastic loom

As if making war-time blankets

For freezing soldiers on the front

Instead of these useless

And most certainly flammable pot-holders

It seems to me now

My mother's ankles were pulling

A similar such spongy thread

Across the expanse of our kitchen floor

Weaving an invisible pattern there

Over the days, weeks, months, and years

The thread naturally tightening

Imperceptibly at first

Pulling back from where

It was originally anchored

Making each step

Unbeknownst to us

A small battle, wearily won

We took so much from her

Thoughtlessly, without ceremony

Not realizing the strain required

By this complex tapestry she was weaving

I try to imagine its final shape

If made visible

Revealed by some secret, spectral range of light

Viewed through the lens

Of intense, burning, infrared guilt

I pretend I can see the structured pattern

Of this creation

The soft pastels she chose

As I run my hand over

The complex series of twists and knots

Each representing some effort of love and care

In the risky, ill-advised

No guarantee investment

Of creating a family

Whatever beauty she produced then

Cannot be studied now

For it has since been lifted up and out

From the straining loom

Leaving only its open maw

And bristling teeth