Lint

This entry is part 89 of 95 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2010-11

What would you give up or do for others
this season of sacrifice, penance, and fasting?

asks the Catechism teacher of the fourth
and fifth graders. A boy in the classroom
writes, his struggles with spelling equal to
those with theology and science: “Lint
is an elemental metal that is light and
durible.” Oh merry mixed-up strand
in the middle of all this gravitas, yarn
twisted in domestic hue— Lint, he said:
lint from the undersides of sleeves; pillings
gathered in the pockets of our coats, fur
left behind by the feral cat pressing
its belly to the grass— all the little
parts that come off, that we shed as we
scrape through the surfaces of days.

Luisa A. Igloria
03 13 2011

In response to today’s Morning Porch entry.

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