I trained to be a weaver in Termonfeckin, Drogheda, Ireland
Another Cromwellian massacre site
This time gathering with a coven — just back from the sand dunes

The twists and turns are of weavings
The how and when of cutting the double-weave cloth from the loom and putting it to reuse

No weave is ever done perfectly

I worked with male weavers in Gaza City
Lived in a makeshift parachute tent – just back from the sand dunes

I was raised to be tough — the ability to bend, break and mend with the soft breeze, the storm, the loom that I carry

Passed the weft through the treadled shed
Right down to sky weathered bones