More Promptly Poetry PPC 5

The Christmas Blanket

I don’t know if it’s an art, or just a craft
sometimes it feels like hard labor
stitching in colors, one upon another
until the vision begins to appear.
Suddenly, the lines and blocks of color
become the symbols of joy.
Snowflakes fall, reindeer dance,
trees take shape one branch at a time.

It’s heavy and cumbersome
not like a painting that rests on an easel
or a jigsaw on a table,
it’s weight is accomplishment.
A struggle for weary shoulders to lift,
a burden for arms to carry,
yet there’s deep and satisfying warmth
when laid upon my lap.

This tapestry of woven yarn
built one stitch at a time,
drives me line upon line
until the joy of knotting the last end.
But there’s still hanks of yarn
that ask to be entwined and raveled
into stories and pictures that travel
from my heart to my hands.