Threads

By Bernadette Anderson

For Tim

 

Small coils of fibres, 

snake like, lying 

on the bathroom floor.

Sometimes in a heap of knotted cotton

on your bedroom tiles.

Always on, under and around your desk.

Pick. Pick. Pick.

Strings of anxiety.

I follow a tail of blue and black strands

to pants without legs,

shirts without arms.

Blankets and sheets

with hems undone.

More clothing to buy.

More linen to replace.

I toss the thread in the bin,

when all I really wish

is to be able to connect those threads

and put you 

back together.

bed-2607154_960_720

SHARE THIS CONTENT:

TAGS FOR THIS CONTENT:

RECENT BLOG ENTRIES:

More Writing Submissions

Ruling Cruelly

By Ineke Hill

We Are Stronger Than That, You Just Don’t Know It Yet

By Ashlee Evans
an abstract peice that could be puzzle peices, or shattered glass. Large black crack shimmer betwen rainbow layered peices.

Cries Of Anguish

By Lorraine Moore

Rubble

By Bethany Cody