the golden ribbon

The Golden Ribbon

I was spun from sunlight,
starlight made me. I was
sown of silk, a firefly’s
lifeline stitched golden.

Dyed and dried, weaved
& smoothed and soothed
‘til I shimmered soaring,
an eaglet’s feather never

softer, I was stripped and
measured, snipped & slip-
ped into service, my purpose
to adorn, to heighten, en-
hance – I was born beau,

elegance born of starlight:
on a haberdashery’s high
shelf I stopped. I waited,
shining for all who came

by, until maternal fingers
took me, tied me ‘round
cold bare bark, hoisting
flowers for passing cars.

Originally published by Word Bohemia, 2014 – journal no longer online

©James Bruce May 2014