The Itch Unexpected

The man arrived at the start of the day

Sat at his desk and worked hours away

He took no morning tea nor ate any food

And he never played music to brighten the mood

He arrived each morning and sat there at work

He never called sick and never felt any hurt

He wove every day with threads from a sack

That he arrived with each morning over his back

He spun threads into patterns with focused intent
Reaching into his bag until his materials were spent 

Then in the darkness he left for the night

Looking up to the sky and the absence of light

For years he had worked and said not a word

He never hummer or sighed and nothing was heard

He wove and he spun and he created the pattern

Letting time pass as always had happened

For years he worked and knew nothing more

Until one day his thumb twitched and became briefly sore

He dropped a thread for the first time ever

And he stopped abruptly, taking no pleasure

One thread there lay as long as his chin

There on the floor curved like a grin

One thread he dropped and let fall away

One thread unwoven for the first time today

He reached down and lifted the thread to his face

Breathing out softly as it wafted in space

"Hmmm" he sighed softly hearing the sound

"Hmmm" he said staring at the thread he had found

He held between fingers and looked at his work

Then tucked the loose thread in the cuff of his shirt

The next day he worked hard as he ever could

Watching as each thread went where it should

He wove and he focused and toiled all the day

He neither sighed nor spoke and had nothing to say

He worked until sunset then noticed one thing

The thread now circled his finger as a ring

He looked at his finger and the thread tied right there

Sighed and yawned and scratched at his hair

He looked at his finger where the thread was wound twice

And oddly he found that he thought it looked nice

It occurred to him the thread looked yet longer

And thicker and darker and very much stronger

The next day the thread had looped round his wrist

And when he saw unthinking he gave it a kiss

He sat at his work weaving the threads from his sack

But stopped now and then to stretch out his back

The thread it hung loose until he stood up at last

And he saw something remarkable had passed

The thread was now something quite else

The thread was no thread but now was a self

A baby, a newborn, sleeping and warm

A baby, a child, a sapling, a fawn

“Well now’ he said for the first time in life

Then lifted the child and walked into the night

Each day from then on he arrived with the child

And as he worked through the day often he smiled

He sat at his chair and wove with attention

But he now sung songs and found stories to mention

He warmed milk and filled bottles and changed nappies as well

And each duty bought joy - except for the smell!

The baby grew bigger and started to grin

Releasing its personality from somewhere within

The man realised one day the babe had no name

And he frowned and he blinked and then heard the rain

He reached out one hand and touched the babes cheek

And he let his ancient cracked voice slowly speak

“Raindrop” he whispered and the baby fast blinked

Accepting the name like a contract fresh inked

“Raindrop, my daughter” he said and stopped at his task

Lifting his daughter to kiss her at last

“Raindrop” he said and the baby cried out

“Raindrop” he said this time with a shout

Raindrop grew fast and soon learnt to walk

She stumbled and giggled and started to talk

She stretched into her body and flexed at her toes

She chewed at apples and picked at her nose

Raindrop would sit drawing or sleeping or watch

As her father wove fabric with no thread ever dropped

Then one evening at the end of the day

As her father stood and they both walked away

Raindrop turned to her father as they looked to the night

And asked him a question as the moon shone full bright

“Where do you go while I’m sleeping in bed?”

And her father stopped walking and scratched at his head

He looked back at the shed when he worked every day

Looked into the distance with no words to say

He looked down the old path to the house where she slept

He looked into the night not knowing what’s next

He looked to his daughter and his heart filled with hope

And he lifted her to him and still never spoke

But that night he took her with him far from their home

That night he went walking this time not alone

That night he had company as he filled up his bag

And though she was frightened she also was glad

She watched what he did with silent eyes

Never speaking or sighing or showing surprise

The first place he walked her was an old house by a lake

Where an elderly couple sat eating this year’s birthday cake

The old man was gumming sponge into submission

While his wife sat knitting in a familiar position

The old man stopped and frowned and reached to his neck

Scratching at an itch he did not expect

Then he coughed and slumped forwards and his wife cried out

And Raindrop watched her father soft move about

The old man was dead that she could tell

As the old lady started sobbing like the clang of a bell

Raindrop watched as her father reached for the man now dead

Stroked at his neck and drew back a thread

Then they walked on to a road in the city

Where a girl walked and talked so dazzlingly pretty

She was watching her phone and striding along

Mouthing the words to a buoyant pop song

When she stepped in the road and reached to her neck

Scratching an itch she did not expect

Again Raindrop watched her father stride in

To where the girl lay waiting for her end to begin

He reached to her neck and pulled back the thread

As Raindrop watched the girl, all words unsaid

The car that had hit her sat silent and still

The driver inside it looking shell shocked and ill

Then to a plane sat keen to depart

Raindrop watched her father watch for the start

There were hundreds of passengers sat all in rows

All in their happiness and holiday clothes

The engines purred and then built to a roar

And the plane hurtled the runway determined and sure

And as it arose every passenger there

Reached up to their neck to an itch suddenly there

They waved fingers on skin as the plane suddenly exploded

And their lives in one beat were swift eroded

Raindrop floating watched as her father

Gathered the threads with his bag growing larger

The night was long and speckled with death

Raindrops father there for every last breath

He stood silent witness and reached for the thread

As every new person became newly dead

Raindrop walked with him, this man, her Dad

And felt unchecked love as he carried his bag

Then the sun came and they came back to the shed

Both awake and alive and in no need of bed

The bag was bulging with the threads now to weave

And Raindrop handed them one by one with such speed

They worked together and smiled and shared

Knowing and showing how much that they cared

That night they went walking with the bag once again

Watching and witnessing love and such pain

Grandparents died and her father collected

Each thread that curled from the itch unexpected

From adults and children and all who died

Her father caught the thread that sprang from inside

One night in a hospital ward they both awaited

A heart torn mother as she sadly dilated

Raindrop stopped her father as he walked to the bed

Holding his hand and shaking her head

Raindrop walked in and stepped to the child

Lifelessly laying all moments un-smiled

Raindrop reached out and plucked at the thread

Turned to the mother and silently said

“I’m sorry this happened truly I am

But I’m here with my father and we understand”

And the mother she wept and the nurses stood by

And Raindrop and her father walked to the sky

For years they walked as Raindrop grew older

Gathering the threads from plumbers and nurses and soldiers

Gathering threads from pilots and surfers and sons

From lives long lived and lives just begun

For years they gathered and wove daily together

Believing that this would be this way yet forever

Then one night her father watched a building slow burn

As more lives yet to death took their final turn

And as he stepped forward his step caught a hitch

As he felt a sudden strange, and unexpected, itch

And he turned to Raindrop and looked at her there

This girl that his life had found room to share

“Is it my turn?" he asked and Raindrop reached a hand

Knowing he knew but could not understand

Raindrop stepped in and wrapped her arms at his neck

Where his skin tickled from the itch he did not expect

“I love you,” she whispered as her father died in her arms

Safe and beloved and kept far from harm

“My daughter” he sighed, the final breath in his chest

Feeling relief from the itch that no one expects

Raindrop found his thread and held it to her heart

Crying in moonlight as time pulled them apart

Then slowly she went with all the threads gathered

And she sat at the loom and worked at what mattered

That night the sun set and her weaving was done

She stepped to the darkness in the wake of the sun

And before she went walking out into the night

She looked to the sky and the absence of light

And she pulled out the weaving and threw it on high

Where it swiftly unfurled and became the night sky

Every memory and moment from every thread

Every promise and betrayal from every word said

Every passion and parent and dream ever dreamt

Every moment and opportunity, wasted or spent

It all spread far in beauty and became the night sky

Added to daily as time passed swift by

And that night as Raindrop threw out the stars

A brighter one shone in distance afar

A shimmering diamond woven that day

Woven with everything there was no time to say

A sparkling perfection of light and of love

Raindrop looked to her father as he sparkled above

And that night as she walked and gathered the dead

She stopped by the grieving and softly she said

“They are not gone, look to the sky every night

Their love shines there still in every stars light”

She gathered and witnessed and returned to her home

Working each day, working alone

Raindrop works with her fingers so swift

And each thread she weaves is a thread she has kissed

She works knowing one day a thread will slip free

Fall to the floor and slow come to be

She knows as she weaves the threads she’s collected

That one day she’ll to feel the itch unexpected