The building where I have my loft used to be the Standard Shipping Co. of Oswego, where 425 employees made four million pounds of yarn a year for factories around the world.
When I touch my brick wall, pass by the giant pulley in our lobby, or see a worker's name, “Lori”, on a beam in my kitchen, history comes alive.
The yarn made here is a literal thread linking generations from those 19th-century workers to us. I hope my poem evokes the spirit of pride in our historic architecture and the need to preserve it as a tactile link to our history.
Touch my loft's brick wall,
Hear the machines rumbling,
Feel our history.
