Stitching - Cynthia Poten

[Lawrence Robinson]

Stitching 
 
I’m threading my needle with light, strands from stars
and the moon, from candles on altars, the tremulous auras
of leaves, zinnia haloes, the luminous veins of crystals
the phosphorescent luster of the sea
the rippling gleams of shady creeks   
 
I need all the light I can get because I’m stitching 
together the dark, heinous acts of this age  
It’s a ritual if you will, a gesture of forgiveness
a prayer to balance the dark and the light 
by merging the Milky Way seen from the Sonora desert 
on a moonless night with the blazing web of city 
seen from the cabin of a midnight jet approaching Chicago 
 
To embroider the border I’ll use filaments of light   
gathered from hungry eyes, eyes shining with questions
shining from sockets framed in feathers or fur or skin
shining witness to human disdain even for life that begins 
when sperm meets egg and ends in clean white bone
eyes shining hope, shining fierce and gentle innocence
 
Every night I sew, each stitch a spark or a star
and when dawn lays its white hand on the dusky limbs 
outside my window, I rise and set my work aside
It’s time to greet the birds

         - Cynthia Poten
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