Stash

[vaneramos]

Boxes of fibre and crates of yarn,
colour erupts from each peaked corner
implying a new river of scarf or sock,
another few weeks lost on the flow
past fingertips, bobbin and needle.
Each puff of merino, alpaca, mohair
begs cracked skin pause.

But we have no time to feel.
We heft these tubs,
three dozen, four dozen,
up and down the basement stairs,
the burden of transferring
too many hopes from one home
to another. Our forearms and knees
crack and stiffen beneath
the weight of clouds,
and by nightfall our backs are broken
by chains of beauty.