Afterward

There was what came after:
the unraveling of each thread,
the anger, the guilt, the sorrow-
kite strings let go
into the sky and wind and water-
my hands felt-
lighter.

And then the hardest:
the remaking,
choosing new threads,
finding the eye of the needle,
with shaking hands
and blinded eyes:
you don't get to choose a pattern
you have to go where
the threads take you-
the ones left still,
because, despite,
love and memory and
the hardest words:
not sorry, or it's ok,
but look at me,
and looking, stay,
and this isn't what you thought
you'd get, this wasn't how
it was supposed to be,
but something emerges,
through warp and weft,
woven now, renewed,free.


-> For N, who loves quilts, and who keeps my heart.