Read the poems here:
I. The Locker
II. The Reminder
III. The Token
See all posts about the project here.
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The Locker
The night is cloud-lit,
shibori on the lawn,
glittering greys and mauve.
I hunt the light,
a mantled hawk -
my map of bees at home
in pages of wax,
land-locked
boxes of amber.
Your violin on an easterly,
now lies night-strung
and empty on the porch.
My dreams are delft blue
refrains of silk -
tin-glazed kites of
moonlight, sparring.
Come home
in Arabian thread.
The blood-work ladders back
to concertinaed wells.
You are awake on a shoreline,
tipping ink into the sea.
Our knot is knit, a plot
of land in lovers’ dye.
I shoot my cuffs,
redress the loom -
I’ll sew you home.
Rebecca Sharp
_ _ _ _ _
The Reminder
If silk could win spurs,
be silver-pinched and starry
at my heels -
the echo furls,
beckoning cells
to materialise.
Yarn laps quietly
at the edges of presence.
Distances flicker
as the undulating knit
dips in, to surface
glistening -
tales of the sea
and scented woods.
Shades of wheat give way -
an ancient reprieve.
If I stared at that place
in your chest,
would fabric mappings
manifest?
Is there space for breath,
as outlying tucks
and furrows suggest?
Could I dream
to be pulled apart,
undone at the tug
of past beginnings?
To wear valour
as its own reward,
or a reminder
of what intricacy
gives to the touch.
Rebecca Sharp
_ _ _ _ _
The Token
waning crescent
a braid letter
starboard full
feathered fan
quarter home
a comb of gold
milk moon
I am yours
Rebecca Sharp
