Seventeen, I’d left behind my
pleated plaids and navy knee socks,
stumbled onto campus in my platform shoes.
Feeling young and unafraid
I moved from a passing grade to
passing bottles in brown wrappers,
passing out in stranger’s rooms.
It was a crazy time;
the world was unraveling.
And I would cling to any line,
to anyone, to anything.
If I could just find my way
to feel familiar tapestry,
to hold a thread of sanity
and someone said to me:
Hold on to my love,
my love, my love
Hold on to my love
Now I can see it your eyes;
they look at mine defiantly.
Seventeen-- no surprise
God, you look so much like me!
The style I’ve seen before,
the hair, the clothes—it’s all been worn.
Honey, it’s the uniform
of non-conformity
And history has her patterns
I remember seventeen-
Between the past and the future,
you’re caught somewhere in the seam.
And if your dreams no longer fit you,
If the one’s you once held dear
start to fade and disappear
remember- hope is here.
Hold on to my love…
I don’t profess to know the future,
Couldn’t guess beyond today.
This thread of hope is all I offer
if the fabric’s torn away.
Disillusioned, disconnected,
sometimes it’s hard to see
There is method to this madness,
pattern to this tapestry
When people talk of cutting things,
cutting corners, cutting lines,
ties and losses, apron strings,
connections to another time,
there’s something here for you to hold,
as long as you’re a child of mine,
this thread is strong as it is fine,
I cried when I wrote this line…
