by Bethany Lee
Some days I’m tired of the making
but that might be an indication
I’m trying to do it alone
and that’s how you end up with armor
Helmets, shields, masks, weapons—
all forged in lonely fires
stoked by the thought of a battle line
That’s not how you weave
blankets, tents, or nets
That’s not how you make
bigger tablecloths
Still, we live in a world
where the looms have been shattered
and only a few know how to mend them
We have stopped listening to those
who are willing to sit and spin
pulling strength from weakness
plying two and three together
You can’t buy a better world on any shelf
The new earth doesn’t come ready made
We are always and forever
winding it together from raw materials
This poem did what Great Poetry is to do… it touched many chords in my soul. Thank you.