In a drawer forgotten a spool of color waits

In a drawer, forgotten, a spool of color waits,

threaded memories twisted, like tangled fates.

Each strand tells a story, of laughter, of loss,

my grandmother’s hands stitching warmth into cloth.

I pull the frayed end, snagged on an old button,

her laughter like thread, in my heart, it’s still woven.

With each gentle tug, I feel her near,

stitching the past with a love, crystal clear.