Poem #34

Threshold

Hovering not in but on a threshold,
I ripped and sewed strips,
layer upon layer,
band after band, 
unashamedly imitating
Klee’s painted lines from
In the Sixth Threshold.
Mesmerised by the line, the colours, the mystery 
of what threshold he crossed
and whether it was possible
to follow his steps, I sewed
in bigger bolder sweeps,
suspended thought
as line and colour, thread and needle
became the focus of uncounted strips
running downward 
through the sixth threshold
into unnamed realms.

10 thoughts on “Poem #34

      1. I love Rosalie – she used to regularly visit Central Oregon when I lived there (we had a huge art quilting community) and teach. I got to visit with her at a party at the home of Jean Wells Keenan our SAQA leader at the time

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