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She’d dribble the fringe of her shawl
in the river. The quick current rippled the black threads.
They floated as she wished she could.
They wanted to be swept away but she held fast
to what had been woven. Her mother’s shawl.
Now her own. How much longer
to be handed down, this black keepsake?
She’d lift out the fringe,
rub it over her face, feel the cold
water run down her cheeks,
down her neck,
into white folds of flesh underneath the dress
worn before her by her kinswomen.
What might she catch in this web
if she let it drift far enough
out of the shallows,
into the dark center
where she could not see the bottom?
How far would she have to wade
until she stepped into
some other world, under the sun-dappled
surface? The river itself was a shawl,
always wrapping itself round the hills,
threaded with golden light,
trailing its castaway leaves.
It could weave her into its weft,
carry her farther than she could imagine—
the sea she could feel surging
inside when she let herself
want what she knew she could not
have, a life she could open
as wide as a closet door onto
garments no woman had worn
before her. Nobody’s life but her own.
From Clothes Lines, ed. by Celia Miles and Nancy Dillingham (Catawba Publishing, 2009)
Used with the author's permission.
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Kathryn Stripling Byer lives in Cullowhee, NC, with four dogs, a husband, and her daughter’s guinea pig. She is finishing her term as NC’s first woman Poet Laureate and will soon turn her attention to her house full of dog hair, dust, and lots of books, notebooks, and catalogs arriving in time for Christmas. A native of SW Georgia, Kathryn has lived in the WNC mountains since 1968, when she arrived to teach English at Western Carolina University. She loves shawls, of which she has too many, and the Tuckasegee River that flows just below her house. Her next book of poetry will be titled River Keeper. Learn more about Kathryn at kathrynstriplingbyer.blogspot.com and ncpoetlaureate.blogspot.com.
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