It’s a snag in the wool

It’s a snag in the wool.

A little loop of gray thread

pulling the whole sleeve tight.

I found it in a box today.

I tripped on the edge of the rug.

The room went wide.

The drink hit the floor and turned

into a dark, jagged map.

I could feel the heat

climbing the back of my ears.

Nobody laughed.

That’s the part that hurts.

They just looked away,

polite and distant,

while I stood there in the middle

of my own small mess.

I’m still standing there, I think.