Navajo Weaver, poem published by Cristina M. R. Norcross

A solitary occupation
of creation and repose –
colors intermingle.
Their textures socialize,
and I am left holding the needle.

Weaving hidden stories and muted scenes,
I am the curator of a fabric’s history.
I must remember to take notes,
before these cloths find freedom.

Hard work and sweat
create a rising steam of
flickering yellow and burnt orange.
Hints of soft rose from a shawl linger overhead.

There is a constant spinning
just under my shallow breath.
My heart follows this rhythmic movement,
and I become one with the weaving colors.

Kneeling brings me closer
to these yarns that languish on the ground.
I lovingly choose a new thread
and think of who will wear my warm clothes.

Vision becomes blurred
as I take up my needle,
and cradle what the colors create.