I wind the shuttle with cords of winter fog heavy and wet in my hand I face the waiting loom its wooden frame warped with fragile strands of soft inaudible whispers all the same tone my hands remember the movements the shuttle passing through and between threads parted by dampened fingers the quiet and the mist countless intersects doomed never to hold I must tell my story quickly lest it unravel before I am done
Thank you for reading this, and comment; it helps. And like it if you do. Subscribe if you want to get my weekly poems via email.
My initial post has more about Aphantasia. Have a look, and the poems might make a different kind of sense.
And please share this with any aphants you might have in your life. I am highly curious to know if any of this resonates with others whose mind’s eyes are dark.
—Alex
One of my favorites of yours.
P… asked me what I liked so much about this poem.
My challenge with understand written or spoken words is that I must build an image in order to retain anything that is said or read (or write done notes that I rarely need to re-read). All of your poems do this, but this one does it really well and gives me images that I understand (I have experience weaving) and that build a beautiful picture and insight into your experiences.
In addition, there is an interesting ‘negative mirror’ between my challenge to retain words in my memory by building images and your challenge to retain images by crafting words.
I’m not claiming my situation is has hard as yours, but your descriptions give me insight into how my own brain works, even if it’s in reverse.