June challenge, Lessons.

String Theory


Threads pull taut
within my mind,
to wrinkle the fabric
of memories.
Pain, stretched thin;
a surgeons scalpel-
dissects emotions,
lancing old scars
with new insights.

I bleed out
through fingers,
to pen, to page.
I fear I've felled a forest,
in sopping up the mess.

Always cut strings,
never pull,

that’s what mum said
years ago,
when teaching me to sew
the pattern
of my life.

And I,
impatient fool,
have only
crooked stitches
and broken threads,
to show the cut
of my cloth.