Posts Tagged ‘glove’




The maker of gloves

is busy now. She knows

there are many hands

to sheath, much weeding

to be done. All the paths

of the garden are overrun

by brambles. The fountains

are covered in thorns.

The disarray didn’t happen overnight,

but in our present haste

to make things quickly right,

we’ve arrived with eager hands bare

and now they are bleeding, numb.

Attuned only to beauty,

how tender we’ve let

our hands become.

The maker of gloves

does not waste any time

tsk tsking. She starts

right in on her knitting,

infusing each stitch

with courage, ferocity.

Do not be surprised

when her gloves

arrive at your door.

Slip them on. They are

not for ornament.

She has made

them so you will feel

invincible. It’s not true,

but you must believe it.

The time for hard work has come.



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Winter Mundane

A glove in the road,
there it was, so misshapen
and flattened that at first I mistook it
for a dead bird, black,
run over by countless tires
until its feathers were
as unrecognizable
and useless as an old single
glove lost on the road.
There was some Once
Upon a Time in it, enough
that I read a whole life story
into the trampled threads.
I imagined how another someone
might peel up the remnants
of that old glove, take it home,
stretch it onto a canvas
and paint it, reclaim it as art.
But I was more filled with the part
of the story in which I walk past The End,
past the black glove, changed who knows how
by this simple trodden thing, finding myself
on the cliff of tears and strangely unable
to stop one foot from moving
in front of the other.

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