Embroidery
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.
Photo Credit: Kate Ter Haar
I’ve read this piece five or six times. It’s exquisite.
This is incredibly moving, and beautiful. Thank you.
Ethel—Many thanks!
Thanks, Ethel–means a lot coming from you.
Beautiful. A lifetime in a hundred words. Grief for a lifetime.
Hey Lucy–thank you!
Beautiful, Thaisa.
Thanks, Cindi! will write to you about catching up!
Such a gorgeous piece! Mesmerizing.
Oh, Harriet–a thousand thank-you’s and more!
Harriet–thank you for reading this. Many thank yous!
All threads come with the potential, and beg creation. Clinging threads even more so. Ah, the wonder of a few words.
Thanks, Bob. Such kind words. I hope you’re hanging in there. I
Thanks, Bob. I like that way of thinking of it.
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.
Thank you so much, Tony.