Poem of the Week: old ladies and looms by Chris Dean
Hello! Today's Poem of the Week is old ladies and looms by Chris Dean, an exceptional poem by an incredibly talented poet.
old ladies and looms
By Chris Dean
I look at headlines
and words jump off the page:
ripped, divided, torn
…and I think about my mother.
I walk to work
past throw-away people
life used harshly before using them up
…and I think about her loom.
My mother wove rag rugs,
collecting cast off clothes-
outdated styles, ripped jeans
and stained shirts.
Things that no longer worked
for their intended use,
still had use to her.
I'd sit with my knitting,
watching her cut away stiff seams,
saving every inch
to tear into strips,
before rolling them together
into colorful balls.
We'd talk while she worked,
me knitting to a prescribed pattern,
her makinging hers up,
winding the shuttles
with reclaimed denim and chenille
to be remade into a new whole.
My needles clicked
with their knit-purl-knit staccato
while I watched her choose the warp,
thick fingers threading the heddles,
using the mathematics of love to pick the pattern
that ultimately bound the rugs.
Sometimes we'd sit in silence,
me counting stitches
while she counted
inches and feet
by the back and forth rhythm
and the beating of the beam.
We'd laugh as I ripped out
my mistakes and dropped stitches,
thinking things had to be perfect and “right.”
Her mistakes, though not many,
became part of the weave,
adding unique beauty to every piece.
At home, I'd fight with my finished work,
stretching and pulling
as I blocked it into shape.
I'm her basement, she tied and trimmed fringe
before placing the rugs on a table
to relax into their final size.
My mother was a weaver,
a practical woman
who never threw anything away.
She chose to remake the useless
and beautify the ugly
where others only saw trash.
I look at the headlines
before leaving for work,
smile at the people I pass as I walk.
I'm not thinking about knitting things together,
I'm daydreaming of old ladies
weaving rag rugs on their looms.
