Pull A Thread

When I write,
I pull a thread
Out of the knotted
Ball of yarn that 
Passes for my mind.

Mulling over, I reach out
And find the end of some
Attractive color, and start
To gently tug, to see if 
I could tick out

An errant thought worth
Some more consideration,
Or recall the moment that
Sparked the thought, some
Little illumination of 

Time and space that evoked
This or that reflection, a memory,
A fleeting feeling, perhaps
A joy, perhaps a pain.

But now, all too much it is
A tangle: I’m unclear, the threads
Confused, the moments mixed.
I cannot distinguish with any
Certainty my hopes, nor my fears,

My pains, my griefs.  My people
Besieged, and I besieged with 
My people.  There and here.
Now, let me hasten, I’ve
No immediate and personal

Fears.  But do we not sit
On the edge, waiting for the
Next blow, the next attack,
The privileged cocoon of 
American Jews

Torn apart by the resurfacing?
This is the thread I’m pulling
Out from my snarled, twisted
Yarn ball of a mind.  

I worry, I’m knotted, 
And I need relearn
To depend upon the 
Ancient wisdom of
The Infinite One who

Over centuries of fear and grief
Succored my ancestors.  I’m
Modern, but it feels like long ago,
So fresh, so ancient.  Hold me
Tight, Lord.  Hold me tight.
Wrap that thread around my heart.
And give hope with love to
Your people.