Basket Weave

Pulled it from the corner,

that old hamper,

a familiar mourner

for soiled fabric.

A dry click, then a crack,

a sound like old bone,

leaning back

on its own.

But it didn't give way,

the tight web held true,

like yesterday,

through and through.

A strand hangs loose,

a brown thread,

a quiet excuse

for what's left unsaid.