a stitched life

It would start small
(A snag in her soul)
And grow big
(An unraveled spool)
Until she fell apart
(Hopelessly tangled skein)

At the end of it, she would pick up the strand to straighten it out
and follow it through all the way to the other end, smooth
the thread so that it was ready for the next time, the
next time, when it might become the stitching
that holds things together instead of the
loose end that weakens the
fabric

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