Kathryn Weld
The Elusiveness of Being
No maelstrom – just drizzle
and wind. The small warbler
I found one morning splayed
on the flagstone, near a rotten
branch – tableau of broken
birch and wings. Mother's
whisk and bobbins confounded
in a single drawer, the frayed
edges of remade curtains,
lining stretched beyond
the seam, the hemline
uneven. In the new room
the wall bulges proud
of the trim line, the sill's
not level, the door-jamb
needs a shim and yet
the finished frame sits
square to my eye and I see
that every window trim's
a fudge-job – an un-plumb
miracle of tromp-l'oeil owed
to block-plane and chisel,
a spline curve fit to five
points – sweet interpolation.
~
Kathryn Weld is a weaver, fern gardener, mathematician, occasional carpenter and poet. Her poems have appeared in journals such as The Midwest Quarterly, Southeast Literary Review, Storyscape Literary Journal, and the Bellevue Literary Review. She earned her MFA in Poetry at Sewanee School of Letters and her Ph.D in Mathematics at the Graduate Center of CUNY.
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