What’s woven then
in broken times
from the linen strips
off our souls
by sisters unravelling
with gentle fingers
the binding of our separate selves
to set us loose to life again.
Encircling as we meet each week
in squares made sacred by
to greet each other wholly
in this pandemic moment.
We lay sorrows, joys upon the table:
a field of bones, a prairie sky,
the evening dance of fireflies,
a red fox burrow in the new stone wall,
a diagnosis gone awry.
We take these strands
and weave a blessing
in these broken times
to bind us.
To remind us
Photo by Wei-Cheng Wu on Unsplash
Love this Nancy.
Going to read again and again – there’s much truth here.
Thank you for sharing
Oh! Hello my lovely! So glad you found me here!
This means a lot, Nancy. “the binding of our separate selves” speaks to me, and then “to be set loose again”. Yes.
Thanks Theresa. I feel this so much these days… the connection, the balm of being unbound.
Thanks for keeping poetry alive! Very nice!
Thank you Fred! The pandemic has regifted poetry to me!