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revision of ‘Tatting Lace’

February 25, 2008

Tatting Lace

Frivolitè: the gentle inculcation
of knots and loops, my fingers hitching threads
around teardrop-holes of light.

This white and gentle nothingness
spreads the tied tatted lace into petal shapes
on a late winter afternoon.

Parliament is perched at the river’s brown edge
like a sprawling pin-plumaged bird,
serious and gothic.

But my thoughts turn to her,
in the 1920’s “Leica” photo-card: her closed-eye smile,
hands on hips, curls winging from under her bathing cap.

Like the lark-knots, I close gaps of years in arched picots,
assembled and laced negative space—
a gentle recreation of the woman I never knew.

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