WOULDN’T IT BE NICE?
Wouldn’t it be nice
If all the various pieces
In the fabric of our lives
Had smooth, unraveled edges,
Matched by color and material
All used the same kind of fasteners
And the same stitching
With the same color thread
And were laid out precisely
According to an accurate
And well thought out pattern
That matched exactly
The pattern of every other life?
But it’s not so.
The fabric of our lives
Can be silk, cotton, wool,
Linen or even rayon, nylon,
And leather, all in any type,
Any form the weaver or tanner
The cuts most often will be jagged,
Unpredictable. The edges fraying
And not quite fitting,
In any color of the rainbow,
And in some colors
No rainbow has ever heard of.
In gaudy patterns and prints,
Stripes, tweeds, florals,
Paisleys like drunken paramecia,
In as many textures
As there are textures to dream of.
These disparate swatches
Are held in place
By an infinite variety
Of buttons, clasps, snaps, zippers,
Or by a tailor’s nightmare of stitches
None of which look the same,
And are sewn with thread
Whose colors have no sympathy
For any of the fabrics
They bring together.
And pattern? What pattern?
Our garment seems thrown together
Extemporaneously, on the fly,
To fit a pattern drawn up
Seemingly by a madman
Who had no regard for esthetic,
Form, or function,
And no consideration whether or how
One’s garment would go
With anyone else’s .
Wouldn’t it be nice?
Or maybe not.
Could it be the fabric of our lives
Is meant to be a riot of materials,
Shapes, colors, fasteners, stitching?
Could it be the fit is not meant to
Be exact, but to have holes and open spaces,
Tears, dropped stitches,
And sometimes look like lace
Tatted together by a clumsy child?
Could it be we’re not meant to fit
Another’s garment anywhere near
As neatly or cleanly as we’d like to imagine?
Perhaps we are meant to clash,
Not exactly match, con-FLICT,
And the only way my garment can please,
Or all our garments together
Can look as we think they should
Is if we are willing to step back
And give some perspective.
Then the clashes wouldn’t look so bad,
The imperfect might look interesting
The discordants like they belong,
The complexities making the whole
Look as if it fits,
As if THEY fit together,
And maybe they do,
Even if we don’t realize it.
Wouldn’t it be nice?