• Vol. 01
  • Chapter 02
Image by

Sheaths of Wheat

My mother gave the latch-hook wall hanging
to my brother one year for Christmas.
It was something new she’d started doing
to pass the time and distract herself
from missing people in the dead hours before sleep.
We did not know what the gift was when he opened it,
and I could see him trying not to look puzzled,
trying to keep from showing what I knew he was thinking:
What is this thing? Why would she think I would like this?
Have I ever spoken of latch-hook wall hangings before?
Did she think the latch-hook golden wheat
would be the thing that would join them,
that somehow wheat was earth and her only son
was that to her: earth, stronger than blood,
lasting longer than a hug or kiss or tear of sadness.