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| Silk Scarf, Joan Gardner |
From Venice to Cathay —
Medieval wizards spinning their dream brocades.
Not the spider’s hunting silk that lures its victims into a lacy matrix,
But lace itself, adorning the throat
Of kings,
Witches,
Playwrights,
Poets,
The human spiders.
Beloved of Kali.
Thugee tightening his silent, silken line
Around the surprised throat of an unbeliever.
One taut, well placed snap between infidel eyes,
Cutting the silver cord, evicting the spirit.
Isadora Duncan, haunted, Raphaelesque Cherub,
Brought her dance to a headline close
With one flowing, organic moment
Of scarf wound in screaming tire.
D-Day parachutes
Surprising Norman skies like corn popping overhead,
An elegant, murderous flak above Arcady .
Cool as,
Warm as,
Soft as,
Sexy as,
Smooth as silk.
Love sheets, lightly pulled across naked skin bring goose bumps.
Ultimately, a friend of Peace,
Of Joy brilliant, enveloping, and serpentine.
Remember, when confronted with Man’s terrible power,
Gandhi chose the spinning wheel.
Hugh Moore
