"Look at the birds in the sky...
Are you not worth much more
than they are?" --Matthew 6:26
I´ve been pondering this cloth of God
lately. It seems to matter now.
The fabric dark-night blue and endless
spreads out on the sewing table,
straight pins holding paper patterns in place.
I notice its surface is smooth,
and tiny red and yellow splotches
dot the deep color
like comets and flashing asteroids.
My mother died recently.
The thin tissue paper that traced
her hospital gown is gone,
the pins taken, too.
My own dress, matronly calf-length
and loose-fitting, sags with me.
I wish the cloth were softly quilted,
lined with warm flannel,
and I could be cradled in it.
Maybe we are small planets
locked in orbit rotation.
Maybe only the animals are free, I wonder,
as a plain brown sparrow launches
from the feeder, arcs over a broken branch,
and grabs a ready updraft.
Is it wrong to want a life without pins,
a form that can fly pattern-free?
Must we be loved so very much?