Appalachian Dreams

Tranquil slumber brings on sleep, sister
of mine. Spin your hair on a spinning
wheel. Dye it with indigo flowers.
Dye it with onion skins. Shuttle fly
quick across the warp, touching the loom
lightly, quietly, weaving a dream

of mountain valley woodlands that dream
on and on. Can you hear them, sister?
Whippoorwills call to creatures that loom
under the night sky. While stars spinning
a silvery net see babies fly
to find mother under the flowers.

I remember when you brought flowers
to me in your little hands. A dream
Of a girl. Then you would turn and fly
down the hill to find more. Sweet sister,
so happy to please, twirling, spinning
laughing, unaware of what may loom

beyond the night sky or what may loom
beyond the speckled fields of flowers.
Here we’re suspended in time, spinning
through our celestial beings, a dream
of light and energy. And sister
only you can make the shuttles fly.

When I was your age, I’d dream I’d fly
down the stairs like an angel and loom
and hover and glide. But now, sister
I dream of houses lined with flowers
and grocery stores. It seems I don’t dream
of flying much. But of men spinning

leather on looms of steel, or spinning
me across the dance floor, my feet fly.
The candlelight floats across my dream
and the music plays while others loom
in the background. Look at the flowers
and hear the whippoorwills call, sister.

The spinning wheel sits while flowers turn
into dreams. The loom stands waiting
for you sister, while the shuttles fly.

Martin, Cheryl. “Appalachian Dreams.” Aerie, The University of Southern Indiana’s student journal of arts and letters, 1992.