a poem about sewing

I realize that I am a seamstress,
along with all the other things that I am, and I am many.
my favorite ones: artist, dancer
student of life almost as much as teacher
healer, traveler, lover and catalyst.

I sew with threads of light, words
threads of breath, movement, codes and colors.
I sew with a pair of wooden chopsticks instead of metallic needles…

with the heartbeat directing the orchestra of the hands.
I sew just one thing: a blanket.

This blanket grows, covers my entire bedroom
wrapping around and warming up who is there.
expanding to the nucleo, over the entire territory
caressing and nourishing every leaf and ant.

then, beyond, it covers Vidracco, over the gardens and grandmothers,
the streets and sculptures, the watermill and apparently solid mountain.
beyond…Piedmont, the Alps, all of italy.
to the west over the oceans until the California coast.
toward Asia, Turkey, all the way to Thailand.
the entire planet covered with subtle threads of pure love.

beyond! the solar system, galaxies, universes
that I can’t remember anymore or even imagine.
with all of space covered, it expands through time,
until the beginning, which is only and still an end.

even here, the end comes to an end
and rebirth brings me to the first woven thread,
going back to the complete potentiality of every moment, every cell
the potential of action, creation, weaving a fabric of gold.

una poesia per cucire

mi sono resa conto che sono una cucitrice.
insieme alle altre cose che io sono, e sono tante.