Mend

(c) 8/09/2017 

I wish you knew how to mend

your own shirts lost buttons,

thread a needle-eye like a poor camel

heaven bound, work the shank with twine,

tie up the four-hole, binding points

of entry and intrigue. Your first button

at four, buttoned and unbuttoned,

everlasting as taxes, then death. First,

place the button onto your tongue,

like a Eucharist wafer. Imagine it is the body. 

I wish you knew what it was like to go to church

before one could buy Holy supplies

and chat with god online. The tender button

has spiritual dimensions. The bottom smooth

as fine porcelain, the top curved, or convex,

nubby, or shaped like a flower,

an animal, a bow-tie, a rococo masterpiece.

I wish you knew before buttons were molded

of plastic like everything else

they were formed from Gaia-earth elements,

from wood, shell, antler, bone, ivory, stone, pottery.

That growing in skill, growing bored,

growing commercial, man conceived buttons

of metal, glass, papier Mache, and cloth.

Still, how uncommon the common button

that leaves everything done and undone.

Next, press the needle into your thumb whorl

until you can tell point and eye by touch.

The needle should pass through silk without mark.

Taste thread ends for fray or stiffness.

Blind the eye with a finger, a spot of flesh

and aim. Thread. Double. Knot. 

I wish you knew how to measure twice, cut once,

to fix before things go wrong. How to mend to last.