A Golden Thread

Another poem of mine celebrating an image of the Sacred Feminine in Scripture:

A Golden Thread

koinonia farms qA tattered web woven of gold and dust

Warms my soul

Threaded with grandpa’s sweat

Summer sun on his back

Toiling tobacco fields

Crying out for rain

Defying drought with the same words

Praying for safety while dodging

The Kaiser’s bullets and bombs

That golden thread intertwined with grandma’s cry at night

That paw paw come home alive

Her prayers of praise on his return

Her many late nights praying for her students

At the little school room in rural Carolina

In which her work whittled away at time

seamstressThat gold thread was woven

In their long night prayers to have a child

And their surprise at God’s answer

For a little girl born of another’s body

In need of love

Yet woven in its midst is the dust

Of a man returned from war

Whose promises, broken as deep as his spirit,

Left their little girl to be and her mama without home and hope

So she might need to turn to them

The dust of a time in our dear south land

When such a mother was filled with shame

Treated as a disgrace

Rather than embraced for the strength she showed

The dust of a time that painted but one family picture

Wiping out the glorious complexity

Of loves as truly lived

gold threadWoven too in this gold is the red dust of Carolina clay

That left my little fingers as a boy

As red as Lady Macbeth’s

Who never could wipe off the blood

A dust woven into my spirit

By the land these good hearted ones

Could farm and rear

Only because their great great grands

Stole it from those whom they called ‘Red as that clay

The fruit of which even in my and pa’s times of prayer

Was kept by force

From those of darker hue

Woven in this web of soul

Is the gold thread of daddy’s faith

Born in preaching like an earthquake

Under Georgia tents

The roar of wind and rain

Causing bulbs to burst in sync with the thunder

A faith he instilled in me

On fishing trips and bike rides

The thread of mama’s faith that there is more than this

Which led her to speak against

Dust upon the gold

Of male chauvinism in the name of God

And the heartache it brought in women’s hearts

Never naming her own pain

And to push against it to return to school

Putting her gifts to the healing

Of children as forgotten and broken as she once must have felt

I am warmed by this rich blanket

Of shining thread

I too must take needle in hand

Knitting thread anew

What dust shall I shake out?

What golden threads weave in?

What mire of my own become part of the pattern

seamstress 2Weaver Woman God

Who knits us in our mother’s wombs

And weaves with us the patterns of our lives

Help me make my pattern

Stronger, warmer, and more alive with light

That those you send in answers to our late night prayers

May be warm through life’s winters

And find the springs of soul with you

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