when a stem rises from within— gratitude for the bounty of wet fabric, grace of the simple chore. Sway of leggings and underwear amid the clatter of the restaurant across the street, the wonder of voices rising from the dark—I move slowly in faith. Faith—sometimes damp, sometimes a clean fabric to stretch into. Can I speak of it—trace or tempt that which shifts? My hands veinier year by year— I watch them move among the heavy shapes, scattered flowers that will lighten, dry— as will I— I am hanging up these soft husks of my days.
Kathleen Kraft is a poet, freelance writer, and yoga teacher living in Jersey City who just publishedFairview Road.