Yesterday, before the rain came, a woman with a cotton sack
like a pillow case came to my door, not begging,
but asking. For lint, she said. I looked at my belly button,
and back at her. From the dryer, she clarified.
I asked what for. She said she's a lint weaver.
A weaver of lint. She said they take lint and spin it to yarn.
Even Google doesn't know.
As I pulled out the lint catcher, she smiled, explained
she was going to make a sweater for her sister's baby,
a girl named Jane. She likes pink and horses.
I handed her the bag, saw her out the door, and while I watched,
she walked up the hill and across the street, ready to ask again.
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