On Patches and Bears

On Patches and Bears

[Title Poem]

I remember the day I patched
the patches
on Baby bear's face..
No ordinary patches, these--
salvaging his love-worn frame
and her sinking heart.
No, this was a careful weaving...
weaving of threads into the fragile
cloth of his being.

"He can't be mended again," I'd said,
but she'd insisted there must be
a way.
So, lovingly, I tended his wounds
until his face was a web of tangled threads
binding scraps of bulging foam.

She thanked me, then
kissed him
and proudly carted him off to kindergarten
for show-and-tell.

Overlooking his blemishes,
his disgrace,
his unsightly mask,
she presented him with honors before
her audience.

I'm sure he was the loveliest bear
in school.

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Frayed Patches

[After thought]

Many are worn by life's
friction.
Their insecurities seep
from frayed
patches.
Why is it so hard to see
beyond
their imperfections?

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For more about the concept of "On Patches and Bears," see:
A Thing of Beauty