Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches

Lost In The Shuttle (Revised/Radio Friendly)

She knitted, crocheted,
tatted a mound --
gifted, worn, forgotten,
forlorn. But,
that did not diminish love
in lotion-soft, leather hands --
in two criss-crossing,
blue-metallic needles
or silver shuttle,
worn, forgotten
in a pile of belongings boxed,
opened by a man
not her son at a thrift store
in the winter of 2001.

I still wonder about dad
who died later that year.
Worn, forgotten
without the warmth
she could give,
not realizing it resided
in the hallway beneath
framed tapestry,
her Last Supper,
in a dresser drawer
packed to brim.