One of the greatest joys of my life have been my grandchildren 14 in all as well as 6 great-grandchildren. When I found this poem "Grandmother" by the Native American Writer Paula Gunn Allen I could relate, don't ask me to explain the how of it, I just can.
Grandmother
Out of her own body she pushed
silver thread, light, air
and carried it carefully on the dark, flying
where nothing moved.
Out of her body she extruded
shining wire, life, and wove the light
on the void.
From beyond time,
beyond oak trees and bright clear water flow,
she was given the work of weaving the strands
of her body, her pain, her vision
into creation, and the gift of having created,
to disappear.
After her,
the women and the men weave blankets into tales of life,
memories of light and ladders,
infinity-eyes, and rain.
After I sit on my laddered rain-bearing rug
and mend the tear with string.
Beautiful poem, Karin. And don't we all, as women, mothers, grandmothers or not, have those tears in life to mend...sometimes with beautiful yarns, sometimes with string, and at other times, sadly a thin tread.
ReplyDeleteThank you Kate,
ReplyDeleteI took this from a book of writings by Native American writers and it felt right so I shared it, thanks for reading it.