Sunday, November 19, 2006
Birds like these
are tucked away in an old biscuit tin; they were begun when my mother was a child. Now I have them; will they be completed in my lifetime, or will they go on, in their unfinished state, to haunt my daughter, to taunt? I've gotten them out to remind me of my mother, my grandmother. And to finish them, and stitch them together into a fabric that will tie up the generations.