Poetry Month 3

Seams

All my friends
are cracking at their seams
dreaming of other beds
other quilts we could be making.

Is this the burden
of being young women?
making a home for
ourselves and all that is to come
and all that has passed,
all at once?
No wonder we all break down
together
flush ourselves out of it all
from time to time.

We rinse our souls out with poetry,
tug and twist all the excess,
hang the lace and burlap and chiffon
in the warm breezes.
All of those seams tugging and pulling
at the spring time
while I sit up in bed late,
pulling out the seams of another quilt
I tired to cover this little life with
this winter

And above us the moon
cleans her own soul;
slips in behind the earth
and comes on out, hands opened -
a mother come back from the grocery
surprised at her children's tears
and hunger for her arms.
Unwilling to give us any understanding
that it is her wild movements that
send us spinning,
break the bonds we thought sacred.
And unwilling to promise never to leave again.


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