I pulled the red thread, watched it unravel.
I sought connections as stitches parted.
I found none as thread pooled on cold gravel.
Row by row came undone. Brokenhearted,
I grabbed a spool and wound the thread back up.
The pattern’s unraveled; the picture’s gone.
What meaning I meant to find is bound up
in the thread I wind until it’s all gone,
and I’m left with a spool of bright red thread.
I hold possibilities in my hand.
New patterns to sew, stitches to try, thread
spooled and waiting–I grab a needle, stand
tall, boldly stitch a new design, and find
the meaning I sought in red thread entwined.
Inspiration and prompt courtesy of The Daily Post’s: The Red Thread