Some of my friends in Cambridge, Ontario, Canada where I live practice ancient crafts. One woman invited me to her small outdoor patio last summer where she sat spinning wool on an antique spinning wheel. A mutual friend joined us and worked on a tatting project. I sat with a journal and took notes for what would become the poem below.
Rebecca treadles her spinning wheelwith her red shoe:the mohair and woolare fine and downy,a soft shade of blue.Last night, she watchedfor falling stars.She dreamt of a walking wheellike her grandmother used.How she wore out the floor.Gandi was a spinner,she tells me.He brought peace.footman, flyer and bobbin,lazy kate.I like the word “muckle”though I don’t knowwhat it means.She grows morning gloriesand hangs wind chimesfrom trees.Her friend Chloe tattsa quick Celtic knotwith thread.But my handsare weak and damp:late summer leaves.Though I recalla previous lifewhen I fashioned a collarfor my husband’s ensemble.Perhaps I soaked itin sugar and waterfor it was stiff’round his neck.Today, I am a single gal,only dream of a husband,bobbins and thread.How my hands might movewith graceas I shapea poor-man’s lacefor the good man I love
then wed.This poem is the last in my new collection of poetry called Creeds and Remedies: The Feminineand Religion in Waterloo Region. There are two sections in the book. The first reflects interviewsI conducted with women in the area of Ontario, Canada where I live. It offers the reader personalencounters with a wide variety of women who subscribe to a faith belief or who provide detailsof their religious journeys. I offer an overview of the many religious found in the area. Thesecond, reflects my own personal religious journey as I travelled around Waterloo Region’stowns, rivers and parks. The poem below reflects my pagan beliefs that God is alive andevolving and dissolving in response to our natural environments. He offers potent opportunitiesfor us to commune with him in nature. To contact April: firstname.lastname@example.org.
Riverside Park, PrestonThe day is closewith heat.God in His bathing trunks.He wades the riverwith His great feet.A beaver on the shoreslaps his flat tail.My dog, too, wags.I am a woman.I clap my tired handsfor He breathes beneaththe murky water.He is fish and God.He crawls, then, to the shore.Amphibian: prince and frog.He evolves and dissolves.Perhaps tomorrow:an egg on the shore.He will hatch in the sun,
open a door.