On Some Bonds

The Red Thread

0328.2025

You once took a photo—

of two needles pierced,

a single red thread

running through their bodies.

I imagine the needles are us—

and the thread,

the binding of our hearts and heads.

(It makes sense.

I’ve often felt

we share blood.)

But then something broke—

and now you’re gone.

When the thread snapped

from the house of my heart,

I learned

how sorrow can be stitched.

No one loves you enough

to see how the knots

hold us tighter

than clean seams can.

(Woe.)

Your life pulses in mine.

Your lessons linger.

The love I hold

is now something else—

I lost you

and understood:

what I desire

cannot be held

in time’s fist.

And so I love the world—

most of all,

you—

freely,

with enough peace

to let your heart unfold

its wings and wander.

Without hope—

but for the little seed

hidden in winter soil,

hoping she’s strong enough

to rise and open

when love’s voice

calls her home.

I carry you still,

and pray too much—

it’s your voice I hear

when the thaw begins.

m.c.f.