Pink     -for Nana...

From 'Noon Realizations'

One fine day
it is begun;
on a creative whim,
haphazard even,
a strand of yarn
its color a strange
dusty pink...

First it is knitted
into a square which
expands over days
and grows
and becomes
a mat for an endtable,
a cushioun for a lamp,
but then;

It is not quite
happy there,
the square,
framed in fringe,
so, it is built upon,
made larger, until,
it becomes
a cover for:

A couch pillow,
in monotone eyelet
which sits now,
unmatching
the couch,
a clash to the eyes,
so it tries
again to be better,
the fringe, forgiven
is knitted over...

It becomes
a lap robe
for cold afternoons
in front of TV,
a true companion, but
it never quite covers
the feet, the ankles that
are still cold...

So it is changed,
furthur modified,
it becomes
a throw
heavy and ever more
monotone,
dusty  pink,
in eyelet chain stitch,
rows on rows
of dense stitch...

It is large enough
now to wrap
a full grown adult
on a cold day in
athletic stands, but
it never leaves the home,
it just sits and waits...

It retains
an odor of perfume
which lingers
and is never fully
washed out;
it no longer matches
the couch,
the rug,
the pillows,
the drapes
which have all
been changed over time
to fit modern tastes....

Yet it is used
again and again,
when torn
it is mended in spots
over time with
patches of remembrance
in many shades of pink
by its dilligent owner,
whom, over time
becomes older;
more arthritic,
her hands
and feet grow colder,
the body slower...

Then one day,
she dies and is removed
from her home and the blanket
remains there as the room
is cleared away until
all that is left is:
a couch, a wall,
drapes and a blanket, which
matches nothing any longer,
but lies in a heap, ragged,
on a sunken cushion...
Alone now and frayed
it speaks, resounds
with her,
and begs,
please,
do not throw
me away...