Cloth of God

As just one pulled stitch in a sweater mars its facade,
so the two of us snagged on your chronic fatigue

but eventually learned to mend our rapport:
hook the kink of estrangement,

pull the loop through the breach,
and reverse for the view of the other’s perspective.

Marriage for us was a mutual cape
refashioned and patched over time,

so tufted with lapses it mimicked chenille
yet was hardy as patent leather.

Reaching into our marital ragbag today
I sift through what remains,

find remnants of anger, frustration, and pique
entangled with comfort, affection, and grace.

If I could cut them in strips to crochet
or piece them together in squares for a quilt,

I’d use stained or frayed scraps as the batting,
lessons hard-learned for layers of lining,

and sympathy and good will for the pattern—
then wrap myself in it for comfort and warmth.

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Sharon Whitehill is a retired English professor from West Michigan now living in Port Charlotte, Florida. In addition to poems published in various literary magazines, her publications include two biographies, two memoirs, two poetry chapbooks, and a full collection of poems.
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