To me, it is a line woven with love, with roses and morning glories
with all sorts of pleasures inside
Breathe-deep pleasures that delight the mind, body, and soul
Feeding relationships, health, beauty, deliciousness
Because the Line-Weaver knows that on the other side is hot asphalt
and careening mack trucks that slam and devastate
“I love you,” he says
But the crowd is loud
A cacophony of rightness and wrongness and judges and juries
Affronted pens affix “FOUL” to the morning-glory-line like so many raised fists
Other pens affix “FAIR” and stamp it “DONE”
Labels fly, taping mouths shut, killing conversations
And gangs stand on either side
Me on mine
You on yours
All of us yelling
One mocks with blistered feet and hurls crash remains my way
And I catch a tire carcass and invite that one to come and sit
Perhaps it’s you
By me
With me
On the line
Eye to eye
I see you
You see me
In Our Town we do see each other
And we both know the “fixity of print” can be a less-than-super glue that halts the ebb and flow of conversation
So we share our storied stories, our yearning hearts
We listen
And fists unfurl
Because we are both human
Humans who are trying
Humans who are broken-hearted, worthy of love, and in desperate need of grace
I am not the Line-Weaver
I am merely the friend who loves
And I’m saving you a seat next to me