“Basket weaving is a most important work”
I tell myself
It requires this slow deliberation
This meticulous attention to detail
This searing scrutiny
To choose just the right reeds
To pair them just so
This careful handling to bend but not break
To make the weave as tight as can be
To avoid any leakage
To protect what’s inside

I have an impressive stockpile of reeds
Collected over more than half a century
Long reeds, short reeds, 
   fat and brittle, little reeds,
   thin and sharp and pointy reeds
They were the cutting arrows of criticism 
   that once pierced my side
The dull blows of failure,
   that bruised my swollen pride
The feeble first attempts 
   that could not take the heat
And the hollow sound of footsteps 
   from my cowardly retreat

Over the years the cane has collected
   to a high and constraining pile
And though I donn the fruit of this pernicious
   craftsmanship with poise and smiles
I’m often crouched behind this makeshift screen,
   paralyzed, silent, invisible, and mean,

I want one day to let my little light shine
But on and on and on I weave
While still wearing this big basket of mine.

(Shine in 5)