I am at the split, needle poised,
reading the tear for what it teaches.
The cloth of my heart pinches, remembers;
I steady it, breathe, and thread the quiet.
Gratitude fills my spool.
Friends keep the pieces from slipping,
family smooths the seam with warm palms,
and the one I love is a tested thread,
strong enough to draw two edges near
Pain is here, a visible gap,
but I cross it with small patient stitches:
backstitch for trust, running stitch for breath,
darning where the weave wore through.
I tend this making with joy and kindness,
choosing clean thread, easing tight corners,
listening for where the fabric asks me to rest.
My body is a garment I care for.
I pin my days with kinder routines,
line my thoughts with gentler cloth.
After the jam and frantic clatter,
I slow the machine and sit with the feeling,
learning as I sew, teaching as I mend,
student and mentor, friend and lover in one pair of hands.
A lamp over the worktable, a light within me,
I tilt the seam toward it, share what I have,
let brightness travel the new line I’m making.
I end with a promise I can keep:
I keep the hum set to a frequency
that shapes my reality and focus.
Today is new, opening to better.
I can turn the fabric and sew another course. 🪡🧵📍
