a fabric ii
BLOSSOMING
LIKE A BLUE THREAD
rhode island—march 1994
Sara fills the Thermos with water and inserts foam plugs in her ears before walking into the weave room, where one hundred and sixty looms boom yarn into fabric. The commotion of noise, frantic and loud and rhythmic, buries yet unfolds blurs of her life as she walks by.
“WELL, HELLO THERE, BABY DOLL! SWEETHEART, LOVE! GORGEOUS BLO-SSOM OF THE NILE!”
A voice thunders among the din, disentangling her from her meanderings, and she can’t help but smile. Anyone could call me a blossom of the north-flowing Nile, anytime.
second part of poem
