Holy Man
Holy Man
What causes the sound of
a crude sewing machine?
Its needle in contact
with its teeth or the
pedal or its wheel? A
tailor once said to me
that God listens to us
by wearing one of His: a
robe of piety, a sandal
of faith in pair. He
pulls the cloth I
brought and feeds it
with ease to the hungry
mouth on his lap. Faith
is without seeing and for
others a fantasy, he says,
when you come face to
face with Him is reality.
And in our lifetime we had plenty
of choices. In a shop of
multicoloured ready-to-
wear. Which one you’ll pick?
The polo shirt rushes its
way from his hands to my
torso. We exchanged views
till sundown, stitched his
thoughts into mine,
unthread the locks and
chains forward and then
back, as if to say that
life is so short without
a pattern or shape. If I
could only draw the
formless and believe. Out
the door with a coat
for my nakedness. The
weighing was not to
be found wanting.
Copyright © Greg Jr Torres | Year Posted 2013
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