When we gather to wonder about the sacred
we
begin as separate scraps of cloth,
squares left on the seamstress’s floor.
Perhaps we believe we have nothing to offer
because we are not more whole.
Wonder becomes the needle.
The sacred is green thread.
Communion fills the seams.
And who, or what, is the seamstress?
Of course, we were confused
about our worth. But my god,
it is beautiful when we can’t help but see
how essential we are—the material of us
gathered into the grand cloth.
It is painful to be pierced in the joining.
No one wants to know this.
And yet each time we wonder together,
and wonder, and wonder,
we learn again just how we fit,
how integral we are, how surely
the cloth needs us all.
—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
