Red Thread

A thin red thread     zig zaggy     hangs from the hem of your favorite skirt or cuff of your best blazer.  You are careful,  But the whole garment starts to unravel. You bring the skirt to a seamstress or the blazer to a tailor.  They are busy.  So many skirts and blazers to repair.  You must wait.

When you do get to pick up your favorite skirt, from afar it looks perfect.  Just like new.  You try on your best blazer.  Just visiting an old friend.  Maybe the thread color doesn’t quite match.  Maybe you notice a tiny pucker or pull.  That favorite skirt or best blazer is not like new.  It is not as perfect as you thought.

You can’t remember if the skirt was ever that great.  You can’t remember if the sleeves of the blazer were always a tad long.  Maybe you imagined your favorites. Maybe you didn’t.  Maybe the skirt was the right length.  Just below the knees. Maybe the blazer was the perfect fit.  Across the shoulders.  Maybe you are over thinking the whole zig zaggy thread problem.

Wear the skirt.  After all, you are told,  this was an expert seamstress.  Wear the blazer.  After all, you are told, this was the best tailor in the city.

You realize you may never feel exactly the same again about your favorite skirt or best blazer.  But this is what you have to work with.  A thin red thread hanging off a hem.

 

Unfurl

Spring Coydog

No random force propels her along
the path strewn of moonlight and moss–
mother Coydog

Willy-nilly

Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge #162

Hope drops in to stay
Intemperate visitor
Rainy August day

 

Morning mockingbird
Staying long past his welcome
Shrill songs mimic hope

1 haiku/marathon training

Union University

Autumn marathon
Sunrise coaching breath and hills
Clock tower timer

3 haiku/Spicy

Autumn too early
Cicadas and black horseflies
Still buzzing for June

Spiderweb hazard
Spicy words for architect
Thick and sticky threads

Citrus summer sun
Spicy smell of forest air
Lifts a tangy mood

Spicy

Garbage Day

Chicken bones amble in the garbage
Hope after Friday night.

Over due or under done
Protein for nobody.

Where does my neighbor’s garbage go when the wind blows?
In my yard.

Art, a rambling euphemism
Of originality.

Someone should have invented it by now.

Amble

Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge #161

Bright Lady Lyra
Music among the starlight
Painted in the sky

 

Male painted bunting
Vivid Crayola dreamer
Sings for a lady

 

Lady Liberty
Welcomes a befuddled world
Painted by terror
Copper and steel stand ever
Hopeful in New York Harbor