Margaret Atwood knows threading.
“Dearly,” writing reverently of rebirth from
old poems. Love and loss eternally growing

Like wildflowers, her poetry overcoming
the passage of time. Nature of nature
stopping the process of restoration.

Creating desire of revival in her work,
our souls sensing the need to find
threads connecting our filaments.

Doulas and midwives asking who will
cut the umbilical cord. Spirit knows.
Earth awaits. Always grandmothers—

Finding the thread— ever running
throughout the soul of the ones
ever after learning weaving.

Elders keeping the cords, young
writers arranging delicate filaments
where Spirit abounds.