lost in the thought
needle rocks through cloth.
pulling perle cotton over
strands of colored floss and yarn.
textile. machine fingers wove the linen I am tasked with working my threads into.
—– stay in the moment.
don’t look. long crewel needle stabs into my hand.
no blood. small punctures. they happen. often.
the small pain I feel takes me tumbling down cobbled paths of wondering whose labor made these items in my lap.
woman. child. Machine.
bring me back to purpose. stay with the beginning. waiting for the end.
what is my desire for speed doing here!
! slow !
it down. relax fingers. stretch. back. go again. not so tight.
relax. lost in the motion again.
building my web.