The Stapler Trick

She fought the drawstring,

her brow tight and low,

with a small silver pin,

moving slow, then too fast.

I saw the tunnel,

the soft cotton fold,

and the memory flashed,

a story untold.

How you fold the end flat,

then staple it tight,

a stiff little spear

to push through the dark night.

It makes it so simple,

no snag, no despair.

But I just stood silent,

breathing cold air.

She kept on poking,

her patience wore thin.

The trick in my head,

but not on my tongue. A sin.