By Alice Dunbar-Nelson
I sit and sew—a useless task it seems,
My hands grown tired, my head weighed down with dreams—
The panoply of war, the martial tred of men,
Grim-faced, stern-eyed, gazing beyond the ken
Of lesser souls, whose eyes have not seen Death
Nor learned to hold their lives but as a breath—
But—I must sit and sew.
I sit and sew—my heart aches with desire—
That pageant terrible, that fiercely pouring fire
On wasted fields, and writhing grotesque things
Once men. My soul in pity flings
Appealing cries, yearning only to go
There in that holocaust of hell, those fields of woe—
But—I must sit and sew.
The little useless seam, the idle patch;
Why dream I here beneath my homely thatch,
When there they lie in sodden mud and rain,
Pitifully calling me, the quick ones and the slain?
You need, me, Christ! It is no roseate seam
That beckons me—this pretty futile seam,
It stifles me—God, must I sit and sew?
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Wednesday was pretty uneventful -- work, chores, laundry, an argument with Amazon.com over a return they said I should have to pay for when it was their error, all to the soundtrack of icicles crashing from the roof to the deck, scaring the squirrels outside and the cats inside. I am not complaining; I am hoping that when the snow finally melts, perhaps by the time Daylight Savings arrives next weekend, perhaps spring will arrive.
We caught up on Dallas, or I caught up -- I'm the only one who cares -- but the show is still huge fun, especially now that Mitch Pileggi is a regular and Judith Light is back. Then we watched The Americans, which continues to be excellent. In good news, the National Zoo has four more lion cubs, and the Pope celebrated Ash Wednesday by supporting civil unions for same sex couples. The water features at the US Botanic Garden's Orchid Symphony display:
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