tartan

her fingers are quick and agile, rising to her lips every couple minutes to catch her warm breath . humming softly, an old song of love and seperation, she stops before she reaches the end, frowns, and starts over again. her hands are urgent now. 12 passes of blue, 6 passes green, three yellow and back again. she moves swiftly. her work taking shape before her eyes.

from the doorway a man leans and watches, his gaze wistful. memorizing. he notes her strong arms and back. the flare of hips that have carried children. the worry lines about her mouth and eyes.

on the fire a kettle steams, upstairs a child slowly awakes from a nap. in the distance is the steady sound of a hammer. rising, falling. it hasn't been silent for days.

this moment is caught in a web. her strength, her love, her prayers etched into the soft wool making up eight yards of plaid.

she sends with him what she can.

i'm not an actor i just play one in real life

my heart must be smaller than other people's.
i can't seem to fit much inside.
like it's my last day of vacation and i have no room for souvenirs
all the space in my suitcase is being taken up with dirty clothes and sand filled shoes..