Following
the threads
of chosen words,
One
crafts a story
as one crafts a life--
Following
the threads
of small acts of choice
and courage—
Raveling
and unraveling
the particulars of a life
Following
the story-line home.
Catching
hold of a purple thread of sorrow--
a
yellow line of joy—
I
needle through the cloth,
buttoning together the places of the heart
that must be bound.
Knarlly
and knotted; piecing and stringing
this tapestry together by such fragile
threads--
I hide the back-side
from view.
‘Such
a beautiful piece’ they say—
‘Strung
together
by
such rich, colorful threads’.
Yet
I know how I suffered the broken threads--
The
illusions, false engagements, subtle betrayals—
So much paradox and possibility;
At times, the fabric barely held.
For
far too long--
I’d
look at the torn places
And
tried to sew
through button-eyes—
Un-knotted—
They
released themselves--
As I sought to make connections
That
were not mine to make.
But
now the needle moves rhythmically
through the holy quartet
of a single button—
I see how the parts relate—
How
the singular threads
Need to be knotted and interwoven—
Buttoned with the belief
That there are meaningful patterns
In this life of fifty-eight years…
The
stitches are beginning to hold;
the torn places are mending.
Slowly
and persistently
the
heart still cries out—
And
what needs to become attached,
Attaches--
And
what needs to become detached,
Detaches--
And
nothing gets thrown away…
As I’ve become a keeper of buttons.
(c) Elizabeth Spring
