NOTHING IS EXPLAINED

 

My sturdy machine sings

Along nodding nodding,

Agreeably thumping

Straight lines stitching,

Seaming together

Cloth cut to shape a face.

It sings a song, nodding

Nodding, acceding

To doing whatever can

Be done: mask,

Ties, face, breath.

 

It does just what it’s pressed to do,

Stitching together seam

By seam the fabric

Of society, binding

Community, mending the

Rift, tying together

Protection, security,

Some small serenity.

The little singer nods and hums,

Sews and hopes.

And so it seems

Something, for now.

Nothing is promised,

But some small song

Is sung, some small thing

Is done.

--Mim Kagol (title from Ross Gay’s “Ode to the Flute”)

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