Psalm to the Seamstress
weave me, dear Mother, into your spirit and skin
embroider in my body your words of unfailing love
with deft fingers at the spindle of my heart spin my spirit into song
pull my threads taut, order my fraying fragments together
braid my unruly strings into strength and command creation from my chaos
knit your wisdom across my temple
stitch your intuition into my sight
bind your love into my breath
veil me in your power, like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s closet
putting her too-small feet into the too-big shoe, vanishing under the folds of a dress in a size she has yet to grow into
my cloth is yours
take my modest offering for your tapestry and swathe me deep into the fabric of your creation
let me, dear Mother, be woven into your womb and the palms of your hands and your heart and eyes and mind
so close, dear Mother, that you may never be more than a heartbeat away
so close, dear Mother, that every needle-prick in my tissue resound in witness of you
by Autumn
