Merrie's Threads

Merrie’s Threads


I know a gal named Merrie
with a spirit like... Christmas.
Well, a secular christmas,
big, bawdy, unbound.

She is merry,
living on a thread of hope.
Give her an inch,
she’ll take a yard
and wrap it ‘round those she loves,
tight, and hang on for dear life.

She bargains...
“Dear Life,
I love you, I want you
I have a simple dream for more life-
A house in the country for me and my kids,
to watch them grow and flower.
I love to work, making pictures and money,
so I shouldn’t have to ask any more.
That’s all I ask.”

She tugs for more thread,
and rushes toward the cure.
“You got it, I’ll take it. I’m there!”
She wraps the thread around all that is left of
her four-foot-ten-inch body,
becoming invincible, living on hope,
devouring doubt.

She grows big, bawdy, unbound.
“I’m still here!” she shouts. “I am life itself!
How can this stop me? Can we party now?
I’ll take some more of that!”
She takes till she’s full of hope and nothing less.
Unstoppable!

She’s a girl on a thread so long,
it must be extended from heaven-

Ancestors hard at work,
trimming hours, days, weeks, months,
years off of lives already lived.
They don’t need them any more.
They want her to have them.

She gathers up her hand-me-downs from heaven.

“Schmates,” her grandmothers whisper.
“Zie Gezunt. Wear them in good health!”

Proudly she wears their hugs and kisses,
till they’re worn out.
Then, yanks for more thread
and gets it!

Only heaven knows how long the thread is,
but when there is no more,
there will still be hope-
the worn, warm, comfortable clothing of the soul.