Magic

If you have ever seen a woman
a dark faceless woman
on a perched bench, unkempt and bored
with her fingers she turns rough long threads into pictures
she embeds her story within the minute fabric hairs
she works in a manner that would make the hour hand on a clock look fast
Half way through
down towards the ground
a carpet hangs from disjoint lonely ropes
you know you have witnessed magic if you have seen a woman weave a carpet
you know you have witnessed tragic if you have seen a woman weave a carpet
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