HEREDITY
(A poem by Thomas Hardy)
I am the family face
Flesh perishes, I live on
Projecting trait and trace
Through time to times anon,
And leaping from place to place
Over oblivion
The years-heired feature that can
In curve and voice and eye
Despise the human span
Of durance - that is I,
The eternal thing in man
That heeds no call...
.... to die
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My Ouma's doilies
Hand made with care when eyesight was stronger
Tiny stitches of love and patience
Weaved within and without
I said good bye to her
Long before I began to stitch and sew
I wonder now.... does she look on and know?
As we ladies make
Do we not create for those who can't?
Are we stitching and painting and writing for the angels?
