
The Worst Parts
The man she loves is dead,
and left her a thorny heart.
It’s torture. And so she knits.
It numbs. It’s transcendental.
Self-medicating. Melancholy
stitching a repeating groove.
Her rhythm never judges –
the needles know she
doesn’t want to move on.
Written for dVerse Quadrille #135 “groove” . Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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