by Don Kenton Henry

The Loom of Life and Raveled Love
 
by Don Kenton Henry                                  

Born into one small seam in the fabric of time and space
With no control over entry and little over exit
We are either weavers or woven
into lives of hapless random chaos . . . or somewhat chosen orchestrated grace

And along the way are the distractions and detractors
Which pull and tear at the occasional thread of frailty we expose
As well as those who guide our needle and lead us forward
Tireless faithful supporters and benefactors who are more poetry than prose

I count you among the two
I count you among the few
Who were there
A face among now faceless names
Forgotten in the wake of another seam you sewed in the
Tapestry of my life of happiness and inevitable graceless pain

But this is about me
Not you
It is my task to keep life’s loom at work
Weaving as though my shuttle were a ship a-sail across a sometimes placid
Sometimes tempestuous unforgiving sea

And in these hours of unavoidable sometimes regrettable reflection
I find the weight of transgressions against me less than my own acts worthy of repentance and confession
I find the price of self-forgiveness
Greater than the cost of forgiving others
And unconditional love is seemingly the blessing of only mothers

All the rest seem mortgagees
Fleeting passing lovers
Contracted for payment owed with interest due
But . . . then again . . . this isn’t about you

So I continue weaving my cloak with which to drape
the shoulders of my life
I still aspire it be a thing of beauty
Made more of give and less of take
One thread for births
Another deaths
One for marriage
Another divorce
One for sickness
Another healing
It will hang upon the wall of my family’s house
A source of pride for grandsons and for daughters
A testimony that unconditional love is also bestowed by fathers

And over that myriad of threads may family run their fingers when I am gone
And feel passion joy mirth and song
May they know among those threads is one or more from each of them
May they know they played a part
Their laughter, tears
Their smiles
Their fears . . . became a thread
And so entwined became my own
Woven into the cloth which made my life
And when they pull it close and touch their cheek against it
May they smell the scent of my sweat and my cologne
May they feel all the memories I have known
And know amongst them you too are sewn

And surely beautiful that garment will be
And not the least thread of which will be the gift of you to me
Raveled in are days of you now gone
That unmistakable seam where love left off and life led on

But oh, yes
Sometimes I forget . . .
This isn’t about you . . .
It’s about what a treasure life’s journey and living can be
 
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