My skin’s an old recycled flour sack:
a would-be calico that barely rates
as simple unbleached muslin; basted, slack,
and hung where pocket lint accumulates.
My mind is made of seven yards of denim.
Utilitarian, these rugged genes
can take a lot of needlin’ with me in ’em,
and durably expand beyond their means.
My spirit is a bolt of silk — no cloth
more intricately patterned, finely spun.
Sometimes I am the worm, sometimes the moth.
I ravel when I’m cut, but seldom run.
Though seamingly my id’s all tuck and nip,
it’s written: “As ye sew, so shall ye rip.”
Image courtesy of Bee Creative (Visit blog for more creative repurposing ideas.)