the one who survived

Remember to keep following her. She is the child-- the one who survived.

it is with her where you will learn about breath.

it is in her company that you will welcome in death.

it is through her light that you will be birthed.

She will not guide you onto the path for it is not one to be met by a child alone.

With her tangled hair,

    she will teach your gentle and fastidious fingers the ancient practice of weaving.

         fingers begin to move so quickly now

         more like fibers now

         your field a blanket now

and it holds you so tight that your bones won't dismantle, as you and your hands

               spin and unwind

               spin and unwind

               spin and unwind

                             unwind

                             unwind

                             over and over and over 

                                  until-- you're left. once more,

                                             the fiber with which the web

                                                    is being spun.

But for how much longer will you build and break down?

your fingers?      the thread?       the stitch?       the whole?

And if it's with your hands you unwind and your mind

that you spin, will your new web be ready

by the time you destroy

the last?

for now     just begin

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Our world

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