A Note on the Indian Rug
Old and itchy,
hardly worth keeping,
It rests uncomfortably,
cradling
our
fleeing memories.
Strands of wool
still
grasping the loom,
weaving a
family's
heritage.
A heritage of strength
passed down
and
placed,
like an Indian rug
atop
the piano.
Thank you,
Oh, my Fathers.
I wrote this poem in response to a prompt at the Alchera Project. I rarely write poetry, but for some reason I pictured an old Indian rug that sits on my mother's piano and it inspired me a bit. It was passed down through the generations and my mother now places all of the wedding photos of her children on top of it. It must be worth quite a bit, and it is definitely beautiful. My siblings and I have had many discussions about who gets it when Grandpa Jones keels over. Again, I will rarely bore the citizens with my poetry, but I hope you'll indulge me just this once.
hardly worth keeping,
It rests uncomfortably,
cradling
our
fleeing memories.
Strands of wool
still
grasping the loom,
weaving a
family's
heritage.
A heritage of strength
passed down
and
placed,
like an Indian rug
atop
the piano.
Thank you,
Oh, my Fathers.
I wrote this poem in response to a prompt at the Alchera Project. I rarely write poetry, but for some reason I pictured an old Indian rug that sits on my mother's piano and it inspired me a bit. It was passed down through the generations and my mother now places all of the wedding photos of her children on top of it. It must be worth quite a bit, and it is definitely beautiful. My siblings and I have had many discussions about who gets it when Grandpa Jones keels over. Again, I will rarely bore the citizens with my poetry, but I hope you'll indulge me just this once.
posted by Cool Dad at Thursday, June 09, 2005
13 Comments:
Hello, Michele sent me!
I think that's a wonderful poem! I especially love the third stanza. So powerful.
I too hardly ever write poetry (which is odd since I was an English major in college), but there are some things that are just perfect subjects for poetry.
My grandma use to have an old Indian wool wig that was passed down through the generations, and she use to use wear it, until I shrunk it, because I hit her with a water balloon one time by accident in the head, but she was ok, just that when she went into her temporary coma she was sitting in the hot sun, and who wig shrunk so small it looked like a nest, but no birds nested in it, which was a good thing.
Hi, Michele sent me!
I hope you have a nice weekend, K Jones, and if you see my hamster Duckie, tell him to come home!
Thanks!
Hello, Michele sent me! Nice blog.
I enjoyed it a great deal!
Michele sent me.
Powerful poem.
Any chance of your posting a photo of the rug?
i loved your poem...and the story of the rug is very interesting!
Lu
Hi, I sent me. :-) Great poem. I think I'm going to have to check out this Alchera Project link.
I think my brother and I will duke it out for my dad's Cross pen. VERY EXCITING!
Nice poem! Lovely imagery... I'm here via Michele for the first time, so I think I'll poke around a bit!
LOVE the poem.
Michelle sent me - and I'm glad she did! :-)
Hi! Michele sent me.
The poem is lovely! I shall stop by more often!
That's a nice poem! You should share more! Thanks for visiting me today, come back anytime. I am going to poke around your site a bit...
Very nice, It sounds like this rug is worth much more to your family and it's history than anybody could ever put a price tag on.
Thanks for stopping by.
K...can't promise you the rug, but I have some priceless books that I know for a fact, you can have them all. No, I think I will tell little R....she can have them all and then you will have to take them. I don't want to have any fights over my estate when I die....
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