I prepare a bed
in the earth
I plow the fertile soil
the waxing moon
signals the seeding
of the earth
the seeds germinate
the tender sprouts
push up out of the soil
I tend the seedlings
I water the beds
the stalks grow tall
the fibers quicken
inside the bark
at the summer solstice
the plants flourish
the stalks strengthen
the red in the
rays of the sun
is transformed into green
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the flax ripens
the days grow shorter
at the equinox
I make ready for the harvest
I pull the plants up
out of the earth
I tie the bundles
I gather the sheaves
I start to prepare the flax
I dry out the shocks
I remove the seeds
I lay the stalks
out in the open
the dew dampens
the rotting bark
I separate the fibers
I comb the flax
eagerly the fibers yield
to the preparer’s hands
|
I draw a line
from the distaff
the fibers flex
I spin, I coil, I twist
the thread around the spindle
spinning, whirring
in the whorl
the flax fibers join
forming an endless thread
through which the earth
enters into
the webbing of my body
we meld
we perform a task
unbroken thread
pulses with
every heartbeat
coils out of the soil
up through my haunches
and out my fingertips
my blood enriches
the color of the cord
|
a crimson spool
spins a blood red blur
ever lengthening
linen thread
winds around the
filling spindle
rich, lustrous yarn
whirls up and down
up and down
a life form twirls up
between our hands
a life force rises
between our knees
moon blood mixes
into our labors
expands the belly
of the spool
in pregnant anticipation
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