by Mitra Motlagh
Maybe I am just a golden thread
on God’s spindle,
tethered from within.
A year pulled so tight,
I became a frayed edge.
Every autumn, the turning leaves
reminded me of something…
One day, long past
the vitality of the memory,
I saw a glistening string
as I ambled along a lonely street,
and at a coffee shop, in the cracks
of the glass in the morning light,
within the open air of a new apartment
filled only with floating dust.
I followed the trace of the strand:
A golden thread without a loose end.
Mitra, this is beautiful. That final line fills my heart.
Thank you, Joann. The poem still speaks to me today, just at a different season. Thank you for reading!
My life this past year. So aptly told. My adult son came to live with me. To interrupt my retirement with his renewed need of his mother, to help him find his way back to a healthy mind. Thanking God for the strength of my fellow travelers on this journey, including you.
I’m glad this poem spoke so closely to a recent time in your life.
We are delicate threads in a fragile world, kept together by an unseen – yet known – – who doesnt want to be feared but loved, ..
thankyou for inspiring me with something of that most strange yet most well-known of all beings-
The Myterious God .