one big tangle of yarn

isn't it all just
one big tangle of
yarn?
God with his reading
glasses on--
sitting on
the edge of 
his king
sized bed--
in his plaid
red & black slippers
legs crossed--
leaning over
the world which
is also a basket
of yarn-- spool
after spool ceaselessly
entwining
with each other--
God puts on his reading
glasses-- silver 
grandmother frames--
pushes them to 
his nose--
he picks up strand
after strand in 
an attempt to
decirn where one 
life beings
& another ends--
he holds us--
me the scratchy 
thick blue wool &
you the thin soft
threads of august
& rip lips
plucked from raspberry
bushes--
God pulls & pulls
& pulls--
more color
greens & silk 
november tendons 
& there is the sinew
of my mother--
course brown & grey--
knot on knot--
there is the exact spot
where i hold
onto my brother--
desperate & burnt 
orange as our hands--
there we swing
as fearful
as the swings in
the park-- God
leaves the knot
in & reaches in deeper--
heart beat after 
heart beat enmeshed
with another--
God keeps
telling himself 
he's going to knit
a blanket-- one day
one day a great
blanket
with all of us in it--
patch by patch--
until every 
person has a tongue
latched-- pearl--
sewn to another's
mouth-- there
would be no need for
words because 
we would run our fingers 
over each other's stiches
& feel every
single meek & thin
spoke of our bodies--
God takes off his
glasses--
he begins to weep--
his unkempt box of
yarn-- a jumble--
a mess--matted 
in areas from loves
forlorn tangles--
gripping-- knotting
each other--
he weeps because he
wonders how many
nights it will
take him just to
unravel all these
spools-- these tired
& hope searching
mouths full of string--
he caresses each one
individually--
his fingers a kind of
apology we save for
handfuls of blueberries
there i am--
scratchy blue wool--
he holds me &
all my wretched
coils--smiles
as he whispers 
that if all else
fails i can at least 
be made into
a nice sweater--
a nice sweater to
pull over
his head-- to help
cast out the draft
in his bed room--
it's late & 
he's tired
so he
puts me back &
promises that
one day i will be sweater 
& you & you & you
a green scarf--
a pair of mittens--
he mummbles
as he falls asleep
oh yes the world beneath
his bed--
a tangle of yarn--
don't let go of me--
i don't want 
to be a quilt
slung over the 
sofa in the parlor--
i want to be this mess--
oh god i want 
to be this mess--
my knots making
us into a fishing net--
reel in reel in--
yes god
we will be fishers of
men--
arm in arm--
me the unmade blue
sweater & 
you the green green
scarf--