Wednesday, December 23, 2009

to those we have lost

Live With New Clothes

Take threads from the flannel shirt he wore,

The plaid one you remember, the favorite.

It has anemone-edged holes which let in a cold draft,

Its red and grey pattern too faded for beauty.

Keep the velvety pieces of solid weave,

With a trace of fragrance of flesh, musk and oily hair.

Search the earth for strands of jeweled color,

Threads of carbon strength and unvanishing length.

Collect them egg-like, carefully and separately:

To keep them from rashfully tangling,

Losing distinction to your eye or usefulness.

Weave them mindfully together with the old patches.

Sew even seams between yours and his.

Cautiously line up edges without ridges,

For a whisper-smooth, sigh-soft wrap,

Barely felt at all,

But warm, so warm

That cold cannot enter.

(today's post is for Mona, I wrote this last April for a friend who lost her husband in an accident a year ago)
All rights reserved.


  1. Thank You Dianne....
    You are a breath of fresh air, in a smog filled world.

  2. I love what you've done with this poem. Those anenome shaped holes! I can see the weaving.
    You're in my heart this Christmas Eve morning before sun-up. God bless your day.

  3. I believe Mona would appreciate this thought and sentiment Dianne. Well done.

  4. Oh my, this is beautiful. Beautiful beautiful.

    My sister sewed me a bag for Christmas, from my grandmother's sugar sacs and an old wool blanket from her bed. If only i could climb into that bag!
    (I am drawn to what you said of energy at my place.)