the smooth slip of the silver needle lies between fingers dry & uncertain
my 6th vain attempt of bulls-eyeing the vanilla thread is heavy & ringing
things will be alright if i can just sew this button on a pair of jeans she wants . .
things will be alright if i say the right thing, look full & compassionate
pointedly earnest & hanging
yet
not
too
much
concern defines chaos
outlining evenings buckled in grateful fear & mortality
things will be alright if i buy her a new skirt, complement her hair
hold that ancient precious memory close .... enough
feed her right & she will grow strong & resilient
show her the shores of the world & read her books of peter rabbit & frog & toad
let her choose her clothes & she becomes confident & free
define her poppy-sparrow-laughter
and
suddenly
there is the blue-red of
needle pricked flesh ...
leaving a scar ever-so-slight & insignificant
slight & insignificant
is there such a thing ?
ever ?
no one ever tells you what it's like to swim in paralyzing gratefulness
thick, blue & smothering
warm & murky
gratefulness is an insignificant word . .
it is more a mercy-steeped-grace
beating & throbbing with all things ....
all things alive and green & smelling of a ripe peach in sunshine .
no one tells you how to love inside out & lost to the
rhythm of a clock not your own
no control, except to press the wound gently & steadily until .....
things are alright
