Red: draped ‘round my neck.

The tenderness, the itchiness.

Beneath the midnight canvas whispered secrets;

promises glimmered like celestial constellations.

you gave me 

soft gold.


Shearing, sorting, cleaning.

Washing, spinning, weaving.


Winter’s embrace fades once a year 

in the spring. Harvesting the delicate,

exquisite undercoat while stripping

away the coarse exterior.


Cleansing any indecency in a baptism

of purity, purging all undesirable filth.

Only the fine, tender strands are left. 

Immersed in a gentle bath, purified, and sun-kissed. 


Carded: aligned to perfection. 

Each strand gently teased apart and 

straightened like ribbons of twilight lamps. 

Continuous thread, skillfully entwined, 

weaving strands together 

upon a wooden loom.




Soft gold.


Written by Vanessa Li and edited by Eden Ward. Published on 23/7/23. Header image from Unsplash.

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