Loose Thread

A button on my coat,

hanging by a thread.

Four holes, so easy,

what my mother said.

But her old kit,

the rusty thimble,

pricks my thumb.

My fingers tremble.

The knot won't hold,

it slips and binds.

The thread is thin,

my patience grinds.

This small round pearl,

it swings and sways,

a lonely dance

through hurried days.

I try again,

the needle bends.

This fixing up,

it never ends.

My stitches crooked,

pulling tight.

Just holding on

with all my might.