A Basket Full of Everything

Through the last two Masters classes I've taken, I have cultivated and refined some of my writing by attempting genres from which I previously steered clear. I made some small leaps over the course of my studies but I don't know that I will ever be finished learning. I will never be a complete writer. I will never be satisfied and I may never consider myself truly... a writer. But the last eight weeks have reminded me how much I love to write and what a big part of my life writing has been. This time focused on writing rekindled the flame between writing and me.

One of my final projects included a poem. Here it is:

The weaver maps the pattern 

The strips perfectly in place 

Evenly adjusting every single piece 

Row, space, row, space, row, space

Upsetting the outside spokes 

The edges are neatly bent 

Disjointing the perfection 

With planning and intent

Carefully threading in and out

Each corner soon turns round 

Packing down to close the gaps 

And make the structure sound

The top is trimmed and tucked 

The rim is put in place

A handle for the carrying 

Of the beautiful new base

Now the maker fills it up 

With future seeds to sow 

And a heritage of pride 

Gifts and treasures overflow

The native gift of music 

English wit and Irish fire

A bit of German stubbornness 

With perseverant heart’s desire

Placed in the woven vessel 

Much to offer, much to bring

A perfect blend of my two families 

I am a basket full of everything