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
then comfort you gently with their own anxious hands
callous and untrusting, nails painted like jewels
they have a grip that only knows how to tighten.
I wear mine like an heirloom; as they tremble
along soft worn fabric, trying to hold on
to pieces that don’t belong to me
Last night I had a dream
I was standing in that old blue dress
tattered and splitting at the seams
and I let her pull the thread loose
we watched as it all began to unravel
The sun climbed over the mountain
until I was bare in my skin again and
she wept as the light devoured me
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 it back together again
Last night I had a dream
I was standing in that old blue dress
and I let you pull the loose thread
The sun 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
Last night I dreamt I stood in that old blue dress
tattered and splitting at the seams,
and I let you pull the loose thread
We watched as it unraveled until
I was bare in my skin again.
You cried as the sunlight began to devour me
and I bathed in every drop of warmth
relishing the moment I fell apart.