My clenched hand relaxes, just for a second, and
I remember it is clenched.

Each muscle taut and ready,
my fine motor skills humming and whirling on their cogs,
turning on a pin’s head, a stitch length,
from fingers to elbow,
elbow to shoulder,
shoulder to nape of neck.

The meditative trance of work conjures
scenes before my eyes. Scenes of memory,
memory of land, land of sun and green-ringed roads,
faces familiar and un-,
open windows of wonder and waiting…
Paper rustles, a clank and whir.

Back to the woven planes before me.
Flexed, ready, able, precise, fatigued.

Advertisements