Sometimes you have to catch
the light, just where it falls
beyond the line of blue iris and purple clematis
to where the oak tree stands boundary.
Shade comes too soon, and the blanket
wrapped around your knees reminds you
of the ages yet to come.
An old knit, still holding true
everywhere, except for two
black squares eaten away,
which remind you
the knitter is gone too.
@Shaista Tayabali, 2014
|My Maya Angelou collection on the blanket my grandmother knitted.|