[Thespiritexpress] Poem read on Tuesday

Judith Edwards jedwards at mcn.org
Fri Feb 23 16:14:28 PST 2024


So sorry I spelled you name wrong Riantee 😔

> On Feb 23, 2024, at 1:29 PM, Judith Edwards via Thespiritexpress <thespiritexpress at lists.mcn.org> wrote:
> 
> Gorgeous Renate.. your poem brought to mind these Aboriginal women weaving in the following..
> 
> Making Mun-dirra - ABC News <https://www.abc.net.au/news/2024-02-13/ngv-triennial-2023-mun-dirra-fish-fence-maningrida-arts-centre/103186786>
> 
> I always get such beautiful visuals from all of the poems that are shared on thespiritexpress.
> 
> Thank You 💗
> Judith
> 
> 
> 
>> On Feb 23, 2024, at 12:16 PM, Susan via Thespiritexpress <thespiritexpress at lists.mcn.org <mailto:thespiritexpress at lists.mcn.org>> wrote:
>> 
>> Whew…thanks Riantee … just doing our work as best we can figure…
>> Gratitude & love,
>> Susan
>> Sent from my iPhone
>> 
>>> On Feb 23, 2024, at 9:35 AM, Devreaux via Thespiritexpress <thespiritexpress at lists.mcn.org <mailto:thespiritexpress at lists.mcn.org>> wrote:
>>> 
>>> Thank you for posting this dear friend, I love it
>>> Much love,
>>> Devreaux
>>> 
>>> 
>>> 
>>>> On 2024-02-23 8:16 am, Riantee Rand via Thespiritexpress wrote:
>>>> The Fabric of the World
>>>> 
>>>> Like a cat
>>>> 
>>>> I sink my claws every morning
>>>> 
>>>> into the fabric of the world
>>>> 
>>>> to reel in the day.
>>>> 
>>>> A prey, soft, alive, fluttering,
>>>> 
>>>> skin tearing.
>>>> 
>>>> I feed on what is to come.
>>>> 
>>>> The edges unravel in the wind,
>>>> 
>>>> and I am left hanging
>>>> 
>>>> attempting to grab the solid weave
>>>> 
>>>> where the fabric hasn’t frayed. . .
>>>> 
>>>> always a little behind.
>>>> 
>>>> Each day I do regain
>>>> 
>>>> the ground I have lost,
>>>> 
>>>> each day
>>>> 
>>>> with a little less strength.
>>>> 
>>>> If I connected with the area
>>>> 
>>>> where the fabric is still strong
>>>> 
>>>> I might take part in the mending,
>>>> 
>>>> I would find a reason to be.
>>>> 
>>>> So I hold things together a little longer,
>>>> 
>>>> even as the pretty threads I cherish
>>>> 
>>>> come undone all around me.
>>>> 
>>>> Thus I weave the death
>>>> 
>>>> of what has been
>>>> 
>>>> and the birth
>>>> 
>>>> that is taking form.
>>>> 
>>>> Then I let go and breathe the weaving that is me.
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>> 
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