She answered all of my questions as the music whispered it's truth to me a new. Grandma reached over and cast magic as the years in her hand settled the needle into the groove once more. It was in this moment that I would finally se the jigsaw puzzle for the beautiful picture that it was.Īll creases and landscape and hello goodbyes. We sat, listening to more time pass like music. Replaced by a motor whir and a methodical thump.Ī one legged tap dancer, facing finality. And blue became black.Īnd all at once, the music stopped. I've already begun to skip."Īnd sepia became blue. Her fingers still seemed to be a blur of motion. Remember this part of the song when you are a father."Īnd Grandma sat quietly. He knows we will let him down and loves us regardless. "This part knows that God is not counting on us as much as we are counting on him. If she really loves you, she'll hold you when you do." This part says, You, My Love, are the prize. That part says that your friends won't forget who you are. I am now her project and she will knit me together with the same love.
She sets her labor in her lap and fixes on me. I now have Grandmas eyes, smile, and attention all to myself. Looking for hidden words between the notes. She organizes her work, spreading it across her needle as she does the same with the words in her head. "Then why do you listen to it so much? Won't you use it up?" "Because it is old and eventually it won't play anymore at all." "Why does the album skip sometimes Grandma?" The woman makes the music sweeter with each rock of her chair. We listen as the room melts to afternoon sepia. She is like the smell in a well used kitchen, even when the oven is off.Ī sweet recollection of a melody you hum under your breath.Īnd me, mid-life, and still with wet wings.Īnd she prepares me for the world with these moments. But she was gone before such things began to stick. We skip generations like the songs on the album and I am more like her than I'll ever know.
SKIN STEALER POEM CRACK
And she hums along with the record, knowing each warm pop and crack like lyrics. I studied each line on her brow for truth. Beating yarn into fabric.And in her wisdom, she'd spin her words into gold. I remember her hands turning the knitting needles like mercury. And let this dark moment be captured, in sepia. Let it be birth into fruition, before the seas run dry, before there is no longer you or I. Before its equinox is lost among the shuffle, the skyline pines give in to the wind and the leaves turn to cinders. If only for the sake of peace, bask in my elixir at the end, before the sun burns out, and fall turns to endless cold.
Like your touch balanced my strength, hushed my troubles, and gave life to my harmony, equal to capturing dark moments in sepia. But alas, my seas run deep with fleeting hope of you, and me, unbreakable like skyline pines fighting off northern winds, akin to the ebb of leaves painting the fall ground, captured in sepia.įall has been my favorite season since the allure of its equinox, balanced out my day and night.
SKIN STEALER POEM SKIN
I want so badly to believe I'd decline the opportunity to bathe my beaten skin in your serenity, one last time. Auburn with flashes of blonde like capturing dark moments in sepia. I guess thats why I loved your hair so much.
Fall has been my favorite season since seeing the sight of multi colored leaves, laying amongst each other in silent beauty.
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