from A Weaving
- from A Weaving
I’m your mother from then—your mother fromnow—and also—I’m not your mother. I’m futurememory—transparent escort. I don’t appear in anyone way—in disguise or not in disguise—sepal—alighted. I stand on a staircase—every inch winged—covered in eyes. [End Page 109]
As she speaks I see her molten aspect and rememberonce she asked for anger. Moment billows—drifts.Does she speak with mouth of crinolines—? Is sightoccasionally—crenelated? [End Page 110]
I descend to her—realm which first appears—myown disquiet—then vanishes.
Red thread—when held—bursts—into blossoms,clots, transfigured petals—auricles.
She says—this is happening—who—you are—embedded—separate from thought. [End Page 111]
Inset in every step—miniscule flame—draws feetdown—bright—to all beneath the surface.
Inside the center of every flame—a perfectly clearcrystal—as if placed exactly beneath—invisibly—toassure passage—through a landscape—I could nolonger recognize.
Sew guided—by underground—illumination—whensight once again was hidden. Even dreams had beenkept—from me—as protection. [End Page 112]
Laynie Browne is author of fourteen collections of poems and four books of fiction. Recent books include poems, In Garments Worn by Lindens, a novel, Periodic Companions, and a book of short fiction, The Book of Moments. Her poetry has been translated into French, Spanish, Chinese and Catalan. She edited the anthology A Forest on Many Stems: Essays on The Poet’s Novel (Nightboat, 2020). Honors include a Pew Fellowship, the National Poetry Series Award and the Contemporary Poetry Series Award. She teaches at University of Pennsylvania and at Swarthmore College.
