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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/action/view/entry_id/933358
Rated: 18+ · Book · Writing · #1300042
All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know.
#933358 added May 4, 2022 at 8:32pm
Restrictions: None
Lost In The Shuttle
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.



When I thought of everything I have written,
all that pours out from me,
I'm reminded of mom on the couch
with her crafts, watching TV
and not understanding the discipline,
not understanding the dedication to something
that produced so much without
encouragement or appreciation.
Why do we do it?
I'm a bit of a narcissist where mom was not.
Maybe, there's no comparison.
She was the true craftsman while I am lost.

© Copyright 2022 Brian K Compton (UN: ripglaedr3 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Brian K Compton has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/action/view/entry_id/933358