Web-weaver

I Am the enemy of content. 

My joy is mobile, fleeting.

I grab sleep and twist it into dreams.

I tie all knots: umbilical cord comes third.

The lovers' knot, of course, comes first,

and the fetus curls up second.

Wedding knots?  I untie those as fast as I tie them.

I like the idea of true love, but I can't stand lies.

My knots are never made to trap you,

just to keep things challenging.

I knit placenta.

I place the child in the womb,

curled in a question-mark of self-discovery.

I call Mawu to conceive community within,

Oshun to light the creative spark,  

Yemaya to nurture the child.

The bag of tricks is Mine.

I hold the bag for no one.

I Am the skin itself,

sensitive and responsive.

When the skin is broken, I make scabs.

Healer, it is I who bring

tattered edges of flesh together.

I weave the life’s fabric

on the loom of breath.

I spin the net of fate,

unity out of diversity.

Mine is the cloth of harmony,

and Mine the mending

needed to keep it whole.

I know the ozone layer

needs a stitch in time!

Pollution mocks My dynamic harmony,

My skillful, caring recycling.

I knit you all into the web of life.

And when I leave off breathing you

I wrap you back

into My swaddling shroud of Mystery,

cocoon of transformation.

My snakes knot and un-knot themselves

in a dance of freedom, infinity sign.

My winds swirl and tangle,

and will not be tied down.

My water meanders; shaping rock.

I puzzle around and always find a way out,

but once I'm out,

I'm curious

and worm My way back in.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018