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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 8, Number 2, June 2014


Marjorie Thomsen
Cambridge, Massachusetts, USA

Vivian Acres

At the Farmers' Market, baskets of mohair skeins are hard to leave; I can't walk away. The maroons look like they've soaked in fine wine. There's a turquoise dipped in a mountain lake, a purple the exact depth and hue of heartbreak. Tom raises the Angora goats and has named his farm for his teenage daughter who died of cancer. Each animal has the name of a rock 'n' roll star. Tom says Vivian loved Janis Joplin, Green Day, Elvis.

A year after buying somber, thick-piled smoky-gray wool, I return for more, tell Tom about the love I have for the scarf my mother knitted for me. He grins like someone much younger and asks me to bring the scarf to him; he's eager to see what the yarn has become, to spend a moment with the fibers I wear to meet friends, buy groceries, skate on a lake.

spin of a baton
behind the glass
spring rain



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