Both sides are a frayed
mess — this comforter past
its use — so old, glory faded, left
out too long in harsh light.
Perhaps the center still holds;
perhaps something smaller
will suffice. It will never return
to what it once was.
It won’t hold
together.
Stitched together, created
wonderfully, of many separate
pieces. Now beauty undone,
undone, undone…
united no more.
* * *
Written some time ago.
Before someone misinterprets this poem as “hankering for the Good Old Days,” let me say that I don’t believe in good old days… or bad old days. They were and are no more.
What this poem can mean is many things depending on your mindset — a new unity, a return to civility, a desire to not see the ship dismantled while we’re still on the ocean…. Many things. You are free to read into it what you see. I’m free to laugh and shake my head… while we can still claim that this is the land of the free.