Judith Cody

THE BLANKET
 art and peril

1
Inca women were honored
as the great weavers,
carders, combers, spinners of wools
flying fingers deftly flicked,
twisted strands faster than
the eye of man could keep track of
wonder at.

2
While another woman in a far,
quiet secret place wove a blanket
from her wools
cut from sheep's backs and bellies
some from the thick
winter coats of horses,
of dogs, of goats,
even the young long hairs of special men,
loved most specially,

her daughter's long dark hairs
curled inside her great thick blanket,
colors of the all creatures
spun, twined and whirled
within the blanket
like in the meadow
after the thundering spring rain
after the curtain of grey clouds
rushed away opened
revealing the hue bowed rain
beneath the rolling sun lights.

3
Evilly cold
bitter winds biting into the flesh
someone lost somewhere
beyond all shelter.

Death squats on the path
home is too far to find
to live that long trek
there is no confessional
from the devil snow
white demon swirls prettily
coy alluring to the cold drowsy
sleep forever
ah o rest no do not.

4
The woman wandered, sought her way
swathed in her blanket
of many colored creatures
reaching the white mountain top
two days and a moonless night distant
from her home fire.

A naked man reared,
came from behind the pines
where he had hid himself
from the wind, the curious same wind
that battled his fire sticks
made it impossible to create the art,
the fire.

Around his waist on a
thick strap hung a heavy
flint knife flecked with dark blood,
hair and beard were white
with frost
he seemed to have the look
of an old, wise man,
he was neither
she could see that at once.

And he saw the great
blanket with the woman
drawn all inside
warm and peering out through
the small open face fold
where her breath left gentle
puffs before her careful steps.

5
It was as if a meadow full
of bright birds had that moment
appeared from some shaman's
pipe right there on the
horizon to horizon vista
where the tender
snow entombed summits.
He laughed
the sudden waves
of bright sound
causing tiny avalanches
on the pine tree tips,
the beauty the wonder
of the woman with the blanket.