Memorial Day

This cloth

This folding and refolding of clouds, this rippled quilt of sea
pulled to shore and away — this is not the work of a god I believe in,
only a cinematic trick, a way to speak of the unfathomable,
distract eye and heart from bodies bloodied and fallen
in a synagogue, at a concert — oh any place bodies can huddle
in a moment’s hope or grief. The cloth of us ripped and frayed,
every thread torn from itself, warp from weft. And still,
here is what we do: collect the threads, pick the strands of light
from darkness, hold the gnarled ball in open palms to gather
our tears and then, slow as autumn’s night absorbs light,
we begin to weave.

. . . . .

weaving by J.I. Kleinberg, “The force that through the green fuse drives the flower” named for a poem by Dylan Thomas

poem by J.I. Kleinberg published in Clementine Unbound, February 2019