Sisal Thread

The post finally gave.

A slow un-making,

not a snap,

but a soft, sad sigh,

fibers releasing their grip.

The cat, indifferent,

curled tight on the couch.

I lifted it, a hollow tube.

The sisal, once so rough,

now soft with use,

and thin.

A pale, familiar dust,

like ash,

drifted down onto the floor.

A single thread,

a stubborn line,

pulled from the rest,

held fast a moment

in the light.

Then,

a small, sharp tear.

It broke in my hand,

leaving just

the faint impression

of its coarse, forgotten life.

A fine grit on my palm.

The quiet end of things.