The Silk Scarf

a poem for my mother.

first

a unique design, like nothing ever seen
the world resists; steadfast, she insists on its creation
only the best silks, hand-spun into fine yarn
painstakingly woven, vibrant pools of colour
form a masterpiece, statement against the norm.

second

the scarf adorns her head, perched
turns its swift head at every breeze.
catching crumbs of bruschetta in italy
splashes of rain in wellington
turon sugar crystals in manila

last

even after the scarf has frayed and torn, long past its use
she will continue to shine
amongst the noise and rubble
her eyes flash with colours of the silk scarf
that dances within her.