Hard work, love that endures hardship, defiance, protection

I never saw my mama’s feet sleeping.
Mornings they trod a triangular path:
garden, fire, table.
Mid-day she walked in circles sewing,
mending our dresses as we read our lessons.
As the sun set she strode through the fields,
barefoot among the thistles to bring the cows in.
When the stars made pinpricks
in the black ocean above, her heels creaked
a half-moon of floorboards around our big bed.
I dreamt every night of fragrant weeds and grasses,
and knew that when I woke
the footsteps below would always be hers.

Thistle by Cassandra Barney


M. said...

KLH you have outdone yourself. It is brilliant. SUBMIT IT!!


Anonymous said...

This is so snuggly and beautiful and wonderful and amazing and needs to be embroidered on quilts and hung in nurseries and on clothes lines.
and in my house. also.

NanaBeast said...


First of all I want to tell you;
You are BEAUTIFUL. I just came from The Greenwich Workshop Blog and saw that AWESOME photo of you!

Then I read your poem and just sunk into a contented sigh. I really love the images you create and the story you tell here. Superb.

I am so glad I found you!

Denise Leavens

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