I was sewing a seam one day.
Just this way—
Flashing four silver stitches there
With thread, like this, fine as a hair,
And then four here, and there again,
When
The seam I sewed dropped out of sight…
I saw the sea come rustling in,
Big and grey, windy and bright…
Then my thread that was as thin
As hair, tangled up like smoke
And broke.
I threaded up my needle, then—
Four here, four there, and here again.
Poetry 365
Inspired by Billy Collins' Poetry 180 project, I post one poem per day here, for at least a year. | tags by author or subject | contact me here
Tagged
repetition
