"Invisible Hatreds"

Grandmother takes the needles from the pine bough, threads them with invisible hatreds, each cotton string dipped in a fine coating of shames. She holds me in contempt of the old ways, working her needles into the core of what makes me a woman, a flower. She stitches together the earth and metal, connects them to the wood and sets them on fire. The water flows over her hands sewing swiftly the losses and taunting fingers pointed in laughter, getting more embittered by the minute. She absolves herself of the burdens placed upon her own head, by her grandmother, empties into me the daggers laid into her for not being a sun. Aleathia Drehmer 2007 Published Munyori Poetry Journal 10/07