connection

The wheels were in a circle
in the well-tended hall,
old and young alike
spinning, plying, learning

how strange to be there -
mother-of-all -
with no spike
on which to prick
my princely finger

and no tapestries on the wall
candles were gone
and sconces
I missed the wide
layered skirts I knew
something called electric
light lit the space
brash and new

in the Great Glen
of the mountains
we were this night
the far, the few

previous poem

next poem