by Suzanne O’Connell

I thought hymns
and hems
were the same.
I pictured God
bent underneath
the table lamp,
holding his needle
and thread,
stitching up
those beautiful chords,
the ones
that shook the walls
of the church
every Sunday.
I pictured God
stitching his perfect
overcast stitches,
to hem the trees
and rivers
and mountains
of the world,
so they wouldn’t trip.

SOURCE: Originally published in The Willow Review.

IMAGE: “Stone City, Iowa” by Grant Wood (1930).


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Suzanne O’Connell lives in Los Angeles where she is a poet and a clinical social worker. Her work can be found in Forge, Atlanta Review, Blue Lake Review, G.W. Review, Reed Magazine, Permafrost, Mas Tequila Review, The Round, The Griffin, Sanskrit, Foliate Oak, Talking River, Organs of Vision and Speech Literary Magazine, Willow Review, The Tower Journal, Thin Air Magazine, Fre&d, The Manhattanville Review, poeticdiversity, The Evansville Review, Serving House Journal, Silver Birch Press, Schuylkill Valley Journal, and Licking River Review. She was a recipient of Willow Review’s annual award for 2014 for the poem “Purple Summers.” She is a member of Jack Grapes’ L.A. Poets and Writers Collective.