Linen

Aged with dust, I tear –

lines of wear,

cross-hatched here, tethered, held taut there.

I am fragile. 

Threaded by time, I give –

and tossed, draped over childhood twine, the sun

sees through me wholly and completely:

translucence.

A whisper.

Seams held together in yesterday’s color –

fleeting afterthought.

I am but used, black and blue

and washed. 

Rinse, repeat.

Rinse, repeat.

Ripped,

worn,

pilled, pulled,

knotted, forgotten –

pushed into the back of the closet,

I am nothing.

Maybe my flaws mimic love,

but as I am once again wrapped around your cold body,

tangled – held to fit your frame, hold your desires –

I beg to differ.

I beg:

pull me at my loose ends;

unravel me inch by inch; please, 

grieve with me.

Undo me,

now,

so I may be made new again.