Thursday, February 17, 2011

The Weavers

The shuttle glides back and forth
one string falls on top of the other:
A pattern emerges.
Single threads are becoming something greater than themselves -
a new fabric in time.
The weaver at his rustic wooden loom
Works both hands and feet -
A concentrated dance of creation.
This skill passed down from father and grandfather to son.

A length of fabric appears before him like a road he’s walking on
the faster he works the faster it comes -
Yet progress is relative,
he rolls it in and continues.
The trailing string draws closer
Leaving its trace in the dirt -
evidence of a long day’s labor.
as the sun sets, he delicately winds up the rest
in an elegant, criss-crossed pattern, the weaver knows his art
At sunrise the next morning
he sets about sweeping and laying the path again
as it has been laid for generations.


  1. Nice poem. What kind of fabric is it? Like the Dogon fabric?

  2. yeah, its white cotton with indigo patterns ...some more elaborate than others (depending on the age/experience of the weaver... one of the groups of weavers i visited had a dozen boys under 13 practicing too). sometimes they dye the whole fabric a shade of indigo at the end too. just be careful to wash it seperate first before wearing it !! (smurf effect)