Out Like a Lamb

Big Woods Weaver

It was like another land -

needled branches, twigs,
the thickest throws of snow
knotted winter, weighted
in an unrelenting spread.

But then we saw the sun.
We see. We sew

the shine, spooled and spun
setting every beam below
in layered leaves of lace

the lightest lavender, a mist -

All the dead awakened,
clothing woven,
country 'tis of green
completed and reclaimed.





note ▼

April 21—A country not your own