Threadbare

For it is written:
I will destroy the wisdom of the wise,
and the learning of the learned I will set aside.
Where is the wise one?
Where is the scribe?
Where is the debater of this age?
Has not God made the wisdom of the world foolish?
—1 Corinthians 1:17-25

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You pick my wisdom all to pieces,
unravel every thread I’d wound
and woven in a silken thesis—
oh, soft the shroud that had me bound!
This cloak was fraying at the creases;
now it is tatters on the ground.

So now I stand here naked, threadbare
as Adam shameless under sky
or as the woman that he met there
in Eden where we learned to lie.
And now you hold me in a dead stare:
I am uncovered to your eye.

And all my life unwinding spoolish
unravels everything I’ve known.
My stubborn stitches, hooped and mulish,
have ruined all that I had sewn.
Where I was wise, you’ve made me foolish:
My wisdom now is you alone.

Then take the distaff up, O Weaver,
the earth your spindle since the drop,
and twist new hope, O Undeceiver,
while here you spin me like a top,
to clothe me now as your believer.
My Tailor, make of me your fop.