Color to Cloth

Recycled wool splits the eye

of the hooking needle

to be plied into dragon rugs,

yellow scales rescued

from forgotten mittens.

The Spirit of the Lamb

spins the wheel

that brought these fibers

to my mother's hands.

Long coats of depression and

pants legs of sub-zero temperatures

find themselves in rose bush

or sea gull wing.

Bankers hang her carousel carpets

between sweeping surveillance cameras,

Turkish blue talismans soar

above Hopi sand snakes.

Taking the task of color to cloth

she'd soak and steam

a single sock to strain

strands of charcoal shade.

Investigating the promise of flight

these woven shreds afford,

I sit on my rug from Ma,

consecrating the umbilical skein

of heirlooms.