Kerri Shyinglight warms up on butter yellows
in the clean spaces
left by folded fabric skeins of wool
cotton bobbins
stored behind a uniform veneer of time
most cherished you are
displayed gathering wisdom
like a poem breathing
a wine being turned
here you hang
your arms warm inside the still-good wool
of the 1960’s coat
I have saved for all these years
it is item one of the grief-hoard
our ground zero and
my nose longs
for those particles of you
I imagine deep within this universe of thread
once pressed hard against my shoulder
on the bench seat
of a station wagon
heading down beside Lake George
Mum’s inevitable
look the fences run right into the water
and the lesson
of the disappearance
of a whole thing pfft
a magic trick of droplets
we never knew
how we too
would be prone
to vanish
and reappear with wain
