The Fabric of Our Lives
The streets had a cushion then
And street lights shone like satin.
The wind gave us lashes
our parents wore
on their backs.
Mothers, fathers made velvet; saw by satin
sounds of dreamers. Medium brown
in touch with spirits, rejected
just enough to be tough
Enough to be proud.
Every one remembered cotton, the bolls of it,
their backs still holding the bow,
arms, hands still holding the pick,
the toil of it.
Our cushioned streets
so many beats from cotton.
Wearing the wind’s warp and woof.
The trees so bright; each leaf