scraps

sometimes i like to think of God as if he was an old, black woman
sitting out on the porch in the summertime piecing together quilts from old scraps of material
each with its own rich pattern
character
soul
and then i think
each patch gets to be a person
and all of us get mixed up and spread out and placed in our right spots to make some pretty design
and also i like to think that maybe that old, black woman with worn, wrinkly, black hands
took her rusty, metal scissors and cut two pieces of patchwork from the same bright piece of fabric and called one of them you and one of them me
and maybe that's the reason when i'm with you i feel like another part of me is there
and maybe that's why also, once having been with you
i'm alright, but i'd be better if you were here