and strong along
the winding ribbon
of highway that threads
these mountain towns
together.
She wears patchwork
skirts, faded boots
and an unstitched expression.
Today a teddy bear
swings in her grasp
marking the seams
of miles raveled by.
Last week, she basted
a quilted rabbit
to her chest.
She sings sometimes,
lullabies to mend
her threadbare friends
as she traces patterns
from selvage to fold.
She doesn't see me
or hear the traffic
weaving by.
She is happy,
her self has gone
to the dancing place.
And I wonder
how many steps
until I join her.
