Across the fields as green as spinach,
Cropped as close as Time to Greenwich,
Stands a high house; if at all,
Spring comes like a Paisley shawl —
Patternings meticulous
And youthfully ridiculous.
In each room the yellow sun
Shakes like a canary, run
On run, roulade, and watery trill —
Yellow, meaningless, and shrill.
Face as white as any clock's,
Cased in parsley-dark curled locks —
All day long you sit and sew,
Stitch life down for fear it grow,
Stitch life down for fear we guess
At the hidden ugliness.
Dusty voice that throbs with heat,
Hoping with your steel-thin beat
To put stitches in my mind,
Make it tidy, make it kind,
You shall not: I'll keep it free
Though you turn earth, sky and sea
To a patchwork quilt to keep
Your mind snug and warm in sleep!
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Identifying with Ms Stillwell's Thinking
From guest Marci (contact)
To me this piece, which I adore, seems to be mocking the control and encasement of some people's lives. They keep, not only things, orderly, but also other people. They miss life's chaos and challenges with their heads bent down always, making sure each stitch is perfect and each row straight. It also demonstrates how little dominion we actually do have in the middle verses, and the toll it takes when we endeavor for that elusive power. In comparison, real life, lived with each measure not "cropped as close as time is to Greenwich," makes crooked lines in life and on faces. It teaches us, tempers us, and makes us better "sowers" than those whose minds are "snug and warm in sleep"-those who limit their own environments, never letting in disorder. This is a triumphant writing that says, "I'd not change my disarrayed past for anything." "I'll keep it free."
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