These Invisible Threads

 

These Invisible Threads

(“For the Lord your God is a compassionate God; He will not abandon you nor destroy you, nor forget the covenant with your fathers which He swore to them.” Deuteronomy 4:31)

I hide it; it has been damaged so long.
I lock the doors; I have been lonely so long.
I used to read the junk mail because it
was addressed to me. And if a personal letter
arrived face down under the furniture flyer and
the weekly shopper,
I would open it anxiously. Written words had
pierced me and left me bleeding before.
Now that the wounds are old(er) they surprise me
when saltwater inflames them like the first day
(when was that day? did the sun shine? did someone find
me tripping over my words? did someone hear me unguarded?
did my sin become fodder for the grinding wheel? when was
that day? and how many others? or months. or years.)

Or was I scooped up before my head hit the pavement,
was I engulfed in flaming love,
was my ruin the conditions for a new world coming,
was my injury the bed where fire and life collided
to reconvene uneventful joy and the beginning of
a friendly walk down the Emmaus road?

Lately I still cry and so do some of my babies.
Lately I still will the clouds away filled with maybes.
Lately I still read words harsher than I wished and (dance
steps) they do not slice me.
Lately I’ve written letters in my head to every one
I hid from, every one who hid from me, for precisely
these invisible threads, gossamer and strong,
that should never have been severed
at all.