Noticing now. Wanting to ignore, turn away from, jump into something else. To NOT feel. To shield and turn away from…the grief. But over-riding that the need to honor, embrace, give meaning to the lives– and if possible, wanting to understand. So I pull out scraps of indigo and salvaged cloth with these children and their adult helpers in mind. Holding the cloth gently.
Holding
Blues seem right. The circle with the red cloth in the center seems right. And batik wings. This will be a slow cloth for certain. Unplugged. Each placement of each stitch knitting cloth together while honoring life. Maybe there will be birds here. Maybe leaves or feathers. Maybe seeds. But something.
following thread 
i’m here
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and that is some thing–EVERY thing
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no words…no understanding–whose world is this, anyway? I cling to the sounds and sensations of rain in the desert.
Will love altar?
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and it’s raining here tho it should be snow but still it’s cleansing. and yes, love altars.
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Yes, hold the cloth oh so gently. Stitch in remembrance.
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ever so gently, as a newborn
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