A poem for threadbare hearts

it goes way back

this tight wound thread

constricting the heart

and tangling the head

spooled round every nerve,

and  bone

winds round each touch

that’s ever been known

binds up body and soul

shapes how they’ve grown

each memory that’s joined

by puncturing stitch

with the merest tug

no wonder we twitch

 

the urge to cut

to slice through flesh

attempt to sever

ties that enmesh

or to take a point

that’s sharp and prick

and pierce the layers

with needle stick

 

but neither skin deep

nor in muscle is found

the end of the thread

to be unwound

 

so so far back

in the kernel of soul

lies the start and the end

that connects to the whole

 

yet also there – within –

an ancient  spool

waiting long

since cosmos was cool

with unmade waters

and destiny dark

and sun and spirit

were barely a spark

the shape of one

on which would wind

all the threads

of humankind

the spindle of God

centripetal core

all ends all threads

love’s gravity draws

 

we fray and twist

twine and knot

caught within

our own  damn plot

 

we try a little love

to weave

but warp threads break

and warped hearts leave

and neither better

is the weft

where truth is thrust

when trust  has left

Yet we are worked by spinner God

whose fingers tiny swift and deft –

 

gently hold and wind and reel

and gracious yet our fibres feel.

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