1011
I didn’t have to mend my old blue dress
but needle in hand, thread through eye
I’m sitting on the dark brown carpet
with my back against the couch, staring
at the frayed worn edges and the misshapen sleeves
trying to piece them back together again.
Wise women will say,
worry is a thief in disguise
comforting you gently with hands
dressed in beautiful rings and nails
painted like shimmering jewels.
Passed down from my mother’s mother
I wear my hands like an heirloom
trembling softly along worn fabric, holding
onto pieces that don’t belong to me.
Last night I had a dream
I was standing in that old blue dress
and I let you pull the loose thread
The sun was climbed over the mountain
as we watched as it all unraveled
until I was bare in my skin again
you cried as the sunlight devoured me, and
I bathed in every lingering drop of warmth
relishing the moment it all fell apart.