Gina Ferrara
Woven
With each conversation and passing day,
the selvedge unravels, taking the self
in singular and pluralized form.
You’ve watched the loom,
how it reminded you of a silent harp
waiting for a seraph’s strum,
in anticipation, the genesis of intricacies
village scenes, hunts, foliage,
apocalypses, droughts, miraculous
draughts of fish, mythical creatures
and life on nebulas, sprawling
sometimes succinct narratives,
made by blunt needles, ready eyes open
followed by the distance of a strand,
and turning skein
the warp and weft of parallels,
silken convergences,
umber, golden, persimmon and onyx,
threads in shades of skin.
the selvedge unravels, taking the self
in singular and pluralized form.
You’ve watched the loom,
how it reminded you of a silent harp
waiting for a seraph’s strum,
in anticipation, the genesis of intricacies
village scenes, hunts, foliage,
apocalypses, droughts, miraculous
draughts of fish, mythical creatures
and life on nebulas, sprawling
sometimes succinct narratives,
made by blunt needles, ready eyes open
followed by the distance of a strand,
and turning skein
the warp and weft of parallels,
silken convergences,
umber, golden, persimmon and onyx,
threads in shades of skin.
Gina Ferrara lives and writes in New Orleans. Her poems have appeared in Tar River Poetry, Dovecote, and The Poetry Ireland Review among others. Her latest collection, Amiss, is forthcoming for publication by Dos Madres Press.
