Wednesday, March 23, 2011

I began as a bloom of cotton


I began as a bloom of cotton,
outdoors.  Then they brought me to a room
where they washed me.  Then the hard strokes
of the carder's wife.  Then another woman
spun thin threads, twisting me
around her wheel.  Then the kicks
of the weaver's loom made cloth, 
and on the washing stone, washermen
wet and slung me about
to their satisfaction, whitened me
with earth and bone,
and cleaned me to my own 
amazement.  Then the scissors
of the tailor, piece by piece,
and his careful finishing work.
Now, at last, as clothes,
I find You and freedom.
This living is so difficult
before one takes your hand.

from Naked Song