(thanks to Tim Iliffe for the prompt, the work……)
. red thread .
we did not know the red thread of fate, tied readily .
tied with inevitable red or bloody rags again.
a meditation on thread, mediation of red, i dream of you.
clearly your clothes remain the same, worn, washed,
your ideas come different.
be well in your mending, despite the pain, raddled cotton .
pin to hold life again.
The red string of fate, also referred to as the red thread of destiny, red thread of fate, and other variants, is an East Asian belief originating from Chinese legend and is also used in Japanese legend. According to this myth, the gods tie a red cord around the ankles of those that are to meet one another in a certain situation or help each other in a certain way. Often, in Japanese culture, it is thought to be tied around the little finger. According to Chinese legend, the deity in charge of “the red thread” is believed to be Yuè Xià Lǎo (月下老, often abbreviated to “Yuèlǎo” [月老]), the old lunar matchmaker god .
The two people connected by the red thread are destined , regardless of time, place, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break. This myth is similar to the Western concept of soulmates or a destined flame.
(notes for Morrigan, May the first cabinet be locked, the second also, yet leaving the red key in, please?)
comfort bound in clean linen.
arises with perfume, an uncertain memory.
what else will you expect of me . that, mis spellings or rags.
you see, i say it means nothing. leather bound, broken, words lost
:: bound ::
tied; in bonds: a bound prisoner.
made fast as if by a band or bond: She is bound to her family.
secured within a cover, as a book.
under a legal or moral obligation: He is bound by the terms of the contract.
destined; sure; certain: It is bound to happen.
carefully you drew crosses on my skin. i looked at you ‘ kisses?’ no, you said, crosses……
i have been asked about secrets, secrets, that I should not tell, and I tell you that I have been kissed truly kissed, and the tear tore my face, a water stripe, dipped in agony and love for you that must be a secret you said, you said, so I will write it here and print it, and print it, and dip it in wax, the kiss.i have been asked
i have done this, when all else are asleep,
stitching, thinking, listening to the rain.
then the voices stopped.
cover the surface . that stitching can be
and never mind the capitals. clever words
the littled dress sewn quietly with love.
we have many more rooms to describe…….