Posted on | July 13, 2012 | 4 Comments
When we returned from Cyprus we got out the old tablecloth my grandmother had bought there ninety years ago and admired its intricate lacework. It had new depth and meaning now that we had discovered the history and craft of the lacework made in Lefkara — the Lefkaritiki. In the past few weeks it has come to symbolize much of the loss of memory almost all families suffer because we don’t ask enough questions as children, don’t tell enough as adults. We live in an age distorted by traumatic memory and consumed by triviality because the memory of craft, awe, and beauty has been forgotten.
We didn’t ask
about the tablecloth,
filigreed upon the table.
We couldn’t hear…