my scabbed knees pattern the red handwoven rug my grandfather brought my mother in ‘09 a piece of home he smiles in memory my scabbed knees bleed often i think my mother is always scrubbing worn damp cloth in her hand kneading the rug back and forth wringing the red in a blue bucket the scolding is a song she sings I am always hurting myself at recess the scabs rip off.
I have a similar rug in my old room, I’m visiting my mother after a few months , I read it while I was sitting on that carpet , my heart sank , I can’t believe this would shock me so much
This poem is incredibly poignant, layering generations of love, sacrifice, and memory into a vivid narrative of family and identity. The repetition of the red handwoven rug serves as a powerful symbol of home, culture, and the emotional labor woven into the immigrant experience.
I have a similar rug in my old room, I’m visiting my mother after a few months , I read it while I was sitting on that carpet , my heart sank , I can’t believe this would shock me so much
i’m so glad you came across this piece 🫂🤍
The history woven in this poem and the red carpet is so heartbreakingly beautiful. Great read
Beautiful. So much love to you now and the little girl then, your father in all his ages. 🤲🏽💖
Thank you so much for reading 🤍
Wow.
I am absolutely in love with this. I felt the beats synchronize within me.
"the scolding is a
song she sings"
Thank you for sharing.
thank you for reading 🤍
what a beautiful way to honour memory
Wow!
This is gorgeous
This poem is incredibly poignant, layering generations of love, sacrifice, and memory into a vivid narrative of family and identity. The repetition of the red handwoven rug serves as a powerful symbol of home, culture, and the emotional labor woven into the immigrant experience.
Oh wow. Just lost for words
I have and identical rug bought in Isfahan 50 years ago. Camel and goat hair dyed with berries.
I would enjoy your father's company. Thanks for telling us about him.