how we cope
we make shit
we look at what is in our hands
and how we can form it into a useful or a beautiful or
a meaningful thing
a song or poem or a prayer
a loaf of bread
a shrine, or new curtains -
what ever it is - to shore up the bulkhead against destruction.
sometimes we fail and
our efforts fall short
and the sandbags we have placed in a wall to hold back the tide
are overtaken
and then we calculate our losses
or maybe we have even lost our abacus
or our compass
and we pile the detritus up in pyres on the curb or
or bury it
trying not to let the sorrow swallow us whole
or hoping it will
and it becomes a part of our new creation.
this is the thread that we are all seeking to bind us in hope
it is the thread of transformation
it is our only hope
