Tapestry

What can you weave

into that beat up rusty door

you found in the barbed wire

arroyo? There’s a hinge,

a corner bent by force,

a strange gill up its length

wind has strummed

for decades. You could

shave your head

and thread the metal loom

with hair. You could mount

the door over a bulb,

let light create a shawl

for a room. You could

poke chicken feathers

through, fragile

reminders of impossible

flight, or gather up

the line of your blues,

that leather cord

strung with shells,

hagstones, sea glass.

You could ignore it,

leave it leaning there,

echo of the wobbly

garden gate, a forgotten

impulse weeds

grow through.

2020