The lyrical act
of spelling your name
is a poem,
a poem.
How else
can I tell
how I woke
in the night
needing a quilt,
and found I was
tracing
the cuniform grave
of your name
in the soft
cotton folds,
how it felt,
the shapes
of the given
and surname
so different,
so yours,
and how sometimes
my hand
found your face?
© 4 May 2009, Heather Quinn, all rights reserved
Originally posted at my Waqt and Heather Quinn blogs.
Three previous drafts of the poem are at Grafediting.
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[...] The finished version is here and here, as well as at Grafetti. [...]
Dear Heath,
This not so much about the poem as about the new look. It’s good and incidentally has a quilty feeling to it.
Love D
the quilty look is revised — and here’s hoping it works for everyone, with no breaking etc.
love, h
Dear Dara
Thanks for the feedback — have to tweak the image on the left side, as there’s a WP screen resolve issue… oh, never mind.
Anyway, this will change a little for tech & design reasons, but very happy it’s OK, and quilty.
love, h
(while he slept)
known to this heart
and this hand
the name
will not fade away
when the bedding is tossed aside.
!
:–))
~ Kate
ji haan.