GRAMMAW DIDAH IN THE COTTON MILL

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  • Didah’s skeletal fingers hummingbird across the loom,
  • pulling bright threads through metal eyes.
  • Her head darts from drawing to threads,
  • translating one to another.
  • The child studies this from the stool that normally
  • meets her grammaw’s broganed feet
  • which dangle now, keeping time in the air with the beats
  • of shuttles and motors all around the Weaving Room.
  • The grandmother nods
  • to a shirtless man in overalls
  • and her loom leaps to life,
  • colors bolting across the warp lines she has set.
  • The girl watches the paper painting appear in cotton.
  • Blowsy roses and modest buds, honeysuckle vines,
  • tiny checks, climb up the face of the clattering loom,
  • square by square, bud by bloom.
  • The miracle grows and Didah, arms folded,
  • smiles and aims a shot of Red Man at the snuff can,
  • a perfect hit.