Star Wheel

First published by Origami Poems Project in 2020 as a microchapbook titled Star Wheel (view or download the free PDF). Each poem in this collection was inspired by the name of a crochet pattern at the home of Alice Frampton’s mother, Patricia Emel, in Seabeck, Washington. Originally written 10–23 November 2002. See also “Crocheting.” 


flower show—

a crocheted doily

under each pot

 

 

late-morning quiet—

a dusting of pollen

on the wedding table

 

 

bridal reception—

the queen anne’s lace

still unarranged

 

 

flowered latticework—

the plein air painting

lacks the arachnids

 

 

long-weekend getaway—

the star-wheel embroidery

still unfinished

 

 

clearing skies—

I look up “marquesa”

in my computer dictionary

 

 

the harpist’s sigh . . .

bridesmaid’s bouquet

askew on the head table

 

 

hands up!

the bride’s bouquet

in mid air

 

 

pulling daisy petals . . .

the country church bell

down for repairs

 

 

Texas diner—

the tip jar

filled with pesos

 

 

pomp and circumstance

the giggling kindergartner

trips on her robe

 

 

heavy garbage can—

sweet clover

from here to the lane

 

 

prairie flower—

your sketch

of just its fallen petal

 

 

aching thumb—

bumblebee

yellows the swatter

 

 

arching Frisbee—

a leafy bower

hides the garden doorway

 

 

the “Old Louisiana” crochet pattern

she tells me is hers . . .

intermittent rain

 

 

my cavalier remark

asking what she’s done all day—

steaming lasagna

 

 

waving here and there

over our Birkenstocks,

starflowers

 

 

newly painted trellis—

the agent arrives

to lift out the Sold sign

 

 

comatose teenager . . .

“Happy New Year”

whispered in her ear

 

 

gentle lawn sprinkler—

the fancy-free first grader

twirls in the garden

 

 

Arabian night—

sand ticking

the Moorish window

 

 

impossible

to write about—

governor’s lady

 

 

farmhouse wedding—

nosegays reflecting

in the mantel mirror

 

 

honeymoon suite—

crinoline and velvet

fall to the floor

 

 

snowflake fantasy—

the unfinished puzzle pieces

swept off the table edge

 

 

May flowers—

a change-of-address sticker

on redirected mail

 

 

April morning—

the last page

shuts by itself