Friday, April 29, 2016

Love Fear (poem in progress)

Love is a fearful fabric, a shredded woven
Needle and thread know it all.
Love is meant to be a force, but not always.

Love sometimes needs to be a whisper, a quiet color from the basket..
I love in high pitch between the joinings, in lucid passion, in interstitial spaces
I am my own broken thing and mend nothing
I shatter rose colors, piece together pink muslin scraps
I cause running, I make escapes happen, I wake up to terrific unravelings

In balance, two fabrics do not make a right
In mending things, extremes are not the way to go.
It is a mistake to love so boldly sometimes
It is better to mete out love without demands, without expectations
It is better to be pierced with your own needle and thread

I take on fearful lovers, too tightly woven, too loosely mended
I fill them with my own hungry grief
I craft illusions and needle tiny bits of stupid dreamings.

Love is powerless. That love has power is a lie, for more often, stitches have power
stitches bind, snuff out, smother
these: the same stitches that bind you to yourself
I whisper my sorrow
for I am an insensitive coverlet

love is a comforter rejected by many
love is a torture that causes them to hide, behind quilts
love is the chosen covering, the sheets of resistance
I, too, fashion caves of my own sewing
I seek liaisons with shadowed threads
cover me, my love, for I have stitched

3 comments:

  1. I believe in love
    Though the evidence tells me otherwise
    Though experience leads me elsewhere
    Though the memories of past failures linger.

    I believe in love
    Searching every day
    Seeking but not finding
    Still and forever hopeful.

    I know nothing of stitches and weaving
    And yet I see weaving as a joining, not a battle
    I see stitches healing the broken places, not tearing them apart.

    I believe in love
    Not because I have it
    Not because I can prove it
    But because I must.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Beautiful. Thank you for your words

      Delete
    2. You know me, so you know it's true. Stitches repair the fabric of existence

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