Photo of an embroidery needle and floss.Because I couldn’t find you, I embroidered little houses and visited each one. Some houses floated, tugging on their threads. Others were sewn to their foundations. I opened woven doors, tred on woven floors, until I found you in our old house, playing the piano. We played a duet and made love in the woven bedroom. Each skein was an adventure. Threads the color of flowers. But when we remembered tearing each other’s coats in a city park, we ripped up the house. Thread still clings to my breasts and arms. I play both parts of the duet at once.



Thaisa Frank’s sixth book, Enchantment, was Best Books on the SF Chronicle. Her novel Heidegger’s Glasses, has been translated into 10 languages. Her most recent flash has been anthologized in Short Forms (Bloomsbury, 2019) and New Micro (W.W. Norton, 2018).  She’s a member of The Writers Grotto.

Photo Credit: Kate Ter Haar

16 Responses to “Embroidery”

  1. M says:

    I’ve read this piece five or six times. It’s exquisite.

  2. Ethel Rohan says:

    This is incredibly moving, and beautiful. Thank you.

  3. Lucy Gray says:

    Beautiful. A lifetime in a hundred words. Grief for a lifetime.

  4. Beautiful, Thaisa.

  5. Such a gorgeous piece! Mesmerizing.

  6. Robert L. Golling Jr. says:

    All threads come with the potential, and beg creation. Clinging threads even more so. Ah, the wonder of a few words.

  7. Tony Press says:

    It is a truth that duets are not meant to be solo affairs, and, oh, that thread. This story is a remarkable tale. Great job.

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