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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