cup of kindness

i call it a cup—

—because it feels like a cup.

and it’s shaped like a cup.

more like a cup than a boat at any rate.¹

of course the beeswax i worked into the fibers might help it float for a little while²—

—but not long enough get very far.

indeed there is not enough wax to keep liquid out—or in—for very long.³

but so what?

cup, boat or vessel of dreams—

—it somehow feels celebratory⁴

so maybe it’s a three-dimensional ode.

a bast ballad with a milkweed melody?

or perhaps—

—(now that i’m following this thread)—

—this vessel and i are parts of a perennial poem.

not an epic of course—nothing so grand as that.

but maybe one verse in a series of seasonal limericks.

an open set of ridiculous rhymes.

yes—that feels about right:

this moment is part of an effervescent echtrae—⁵

with no end in sight.⁶

1. it is definitely too tall, narrow and tippy to be a coracle—the kind of boat historically used for immrama. at least the coracles i’ve made were shallower, more bowl-shaped, and tippy enough at that. happily, the joy of comics is that a gal can defy physics if she wants to.

2. though as you can see, before long the lump of wax was as full of milkweed as the milkweed was of wax

the wax also contributed to the structural integrity and the satisfying (to me) sound of thin white cordage (autumn-gathered milkweed), sliding through strands of thick grey cordage (winter-retted milkweed), as I go round and round and round.

3. not that i’ve tried…

4. though if i were using it to make a toast, i’d want to fill it with one of the scrumptious special drinks my daughter-in-law has been making with her lilac syrup—a recipe she got from Alexis, the black forager YouTube (i’ve learned so much from these little gemsnand been utterly charmed along the way).

btw—lilac syrup is delicious with fizzy water, in a mojito—and probably any number of other beverages i know nothing of—and totally worth a try next season, or if local lilacs are still blossoming.

5. not being a scholar of medieval literature i’m using the terms immram and echtrae somewhat loosely to mean voyages into the unknown. there are many sources and explanations for both words—too many and too varied for me to feel comfortable linking any particular one— especially as most of them are about men and my original connection came from a class i took with the amazing Dr Sharon Blackie (whose new book, Ripening, has just arrived at my house), wherein she introduced the idea of the immram as part of the heroine’s journey and the finding of calling.

6. an endless and lighthearted apprenticeship to the making of poems in and with fiber seems as good a life path as any.

and speaking of poems in fiber—i’m absolutely thrilled to have a collection of my wee word tapestries in Micala Sidore’s magnificent new book, Tapestry Talking. delightfully, all the chapter headings are four letter words—words that i have woven—and you can see the wee tapestries beautifully photographed all together on page five! and that is only the very beginning of what actually is an epic to tapestry: 326 individual and hugely varied works, compellingly organized, beautifully photographed, and interestingly described laid out over 250+ pages. (one of my older works, hands also appears on page 195 in the grid chapter). the book is a celebration of tapestry, art, and of the kind of textile devotion that keeps us all going.