person Yvette J. Green, one poem

A native of Nashville, TN, Yvette J. Green has lived in the Maryland suburbs of Washington, D.C. for the last 19 years. Two sons, 11 and 16, make her a proud mother. She has had a short memoir published in the Seasons of Our Lives-Winter: Stories from Her first poems have been published in Indolent Books: What Rough Beast, 45th Parallel Magazine and are forthcoming in Hive Avenue and The Mark Literary Review.



Impossible to navigate the narrative you spin
Yarn unfolds
from the blue ball your mother used
to knit our first son’s baby blanket
from the berry ball that her calico cat batted
around her kitchen tile

The yarn has rolled under the sofa
out of your reach.
I rewrap the tendrils,
into a tightly wound ball to place in
stoneware clay
to contain the spun thread-
to crochet another memory–
in the corner curio cabinet where I keep my dolls.


3 thoughts on “person Yvette J. Green, one poem

  1. This is beautifully descriptive! I love the connection between memories tucked away and tightly wound yarn that is put away is stoneware. The fact that it’s stoneware makes me believe the memories are precious and mustn’t be destroyed, or that they are “dangerous” and must be hidden for peace and safety.


  2. We can all picture a ball of yarn and this poem reminded me how things in life can sometimes be functional, pretty, fun and can also become unraveled but yarn is flexible and strong.


  3. This poem invoked feelings of calm, quietly peaceful and heartwarming. Whenever I have witnessed someone or a cat handling yarn, I have witnessed precious memories.

    Thank you Ms. Green


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