This two-voice poem was born from my mother's reading of Stafford's works. To be read with two voices.
The Thread
A Two Voice Poem
(Inspired by “The Way It Is” by William Stafford)
There’s a thread that you follow.
Things will change.
Tragedies Happen.
In times of languor and creative desolation
I crochet.
I take a ball of yarn and draw loops
again and again.
Babies are born
A fabric is born
They grow into childhood
And then into adulthood.
It grows into a blanket, a hat, a scarf.
While following the thread of life,
People get sick.
People suffer.
They get old and eventually they die.
Sounds simple, yes?
No.
There are too many shades and hues of yarn
For me to think simple.
And then there’s size, age and style
This thread is the cycle of life and time.
And Time and season.
Time stands still for no one.
Time is set, yet it continues
Wait until time starts running out,
And a precious life is gone.
Then time becomes eternal
In memories that live on.
Making mittens in May
Is a very sure way
To make no money.
Nothing you can do
Can stop time’s unfolding
Of life.
But oh, how I am reminded that the yarn Im
Exponentially looping
Is akin to the spirit.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.
Hold on to it
Through your journey.
Some spirits run out too early
And cant be replaced
With a simple trip to the spinning wheel
As long as you hold onto it,
You cannot get lost.
Spirits, like colorways, bond to kindred spirits.
Others may never see the thread
But all that matters
Is that you see it.
That you can connect with it.
Most importantly
However tormented or fulfilleld
Spirits always bear the watermark
Of their creator.
It goes among things that change,
But it doesn’t change.
And that’s the way it is.
And that ‘s the way it is.
And that’s the way it is.
The Thread
A Two Voice Poem
(Inspired by “The Way It Is” by William Stafford)
There’s a thread that you follow.
Things will change.
Tragedies Happen.
In times of languor and creative desolation
I crochet.
I take a ball of yarn and draw loops
again and again.
Babies are born
A fabric is born
They grow into childhood
And then into adulthood.
It grows into a blanket, a hat, a scarf.
While following the thread of life,
People get sick.
People suffer.
They get old and eventually they die.
Sounds simple, yes?
No.
There are too many shades and hues of yarn
For me to think simple.
And then there’s size, age and style
This thread is the cycle of life and time.
And Time and season.
Time stands still for no one.
Time is set, yet it continues
Wait until time starts running out,
And a precious life is gone.
Then time becomes eternal
In memories that live on.
Making mittens in May
Is a very sure way
To make no money.
Nothing you can do
Can stop time’s unfolding
Of life.
But oh, how I am reminded that the yarn Im
Exponentially looping
Is akin to the spirit.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.
Hold on to it
Through your journey.
Some spirits run out too early
And cant be replaced
With a simple trip to the spinning wheel
As long as you hold onto it,
You cannot get lost.
Spirits, like colorways, bond to kindred spirits.
Others may never see the thread
But all that matters
Is that you see it.
That you can connect with it.
Most importantly
However tormented or fulfilleld
Spirits always bear the watermark
Of their creator.
It goes among things that change,
But it doesn’t change.
And that’s the way it is.
And that ‘s the way it is.
And that’s the way it is.