for Charlie
routing earth for ants,
our quarry a queen,
it was as if the air
turned to petals
and buzzings of bees,
each of us sweet
and industrious
in the bright breaks
between rain
earlier, we’d paused
for the low darts
of the swallows
and the unexpectedness
of a dragonfly
the exact color
of a November sea
for now a small quest
and a glad yes
enough to bring us
shoulder to shoulder
in the tentative hope
of certainty and sorry
© Sarah Whiteley
bring me thread
red with want
and thinly shining
ever-binding
unwinding
from my spool
bring me pins
pearl-tipped
and thin as hope
ever-ensuring
securing
seemly seams
bring me needles
bright eyed
and sharp gazed
never erring
to bear the thread
between the pins
bring me shears
unflinching
firmly clenching
that I may cut
the threads
that unruly hang
bring me cloth
tight woven
that I may stitch
a life
that I may mend
the days
sew it is
and sew it shall be
© Sarah Whiteley
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