Thread Count
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My mother hung wet sheets to dry from a rope
that stretched between two poles in our back yard, her motions
smooth and rhythmic as a synchronized swimmer. She
stooped and straightened again and again, her hands
moving across the line faster than
squirrels on telephone wire.
From my perch on the swing, I watched her work,
pumping my legs until I touched puffy
white clouds with the toes of my shoes, the squeak
of the metal chain steady as a metronome.
My body felt light as dandelion seeds, floating.
Higher and higher I swung, until it seemed
I was a kite soaring on the end of a
string. I slung my head back and let
my hair trail in the dirt, closing my eyes so the
sensation in my belly was like the swift
descent of an elevator in a tall building. The sun
felt like warm maple syrup dripping on my
face, and the air smelled of honeysuckle and bacon
grease in glass jars sitting on the window
sill. I opened my eyes as my mother lifted
the last sheet from the pile, with light illuminating the
threads like the hours in a child’s summer day,
too many to count.
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About the Book
Thread Count belongs in everyone’s library. Many of the poems will forever be committed to memory and quoted through time…as their meanings are eternal and beautiful.
--Mark Houston, M.D., What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Hypertension
Like a time capsule, her (Erickson's) poetry draws in a reader as vividly as a snapshot or a painting, but with descriptions of emotions and environments that are lost in translation with film or paint. --Denise Kasper,
Terri Erickson has made a marvel in these poems, a gift of connection that is rich, deep and wide. She expresses the essence of things both ordinary and remarkable in ways that invite the rest of us to experience our own lives more fully and deeply. In a world all too shallow and in love with speed, these poems demonstrate the great value of depth, caring and the moment taken to pause and consider.
--Nelson Adams, Learn to Be Happy
About the Author
Terri Kirby Erickson was born in