Ragged edges

The sack tore, slow and sudden,

coarse strands tangled in my fingers.

Soil poured out like secrets spilled

across cracked pavement.

Sunlight caught the dust motes,

a breath caught in a threadbare seam.

I stood with shoes heavy, speckled

and raw where grit met skin.

Rough burlap pressed to skin,

the sting of old wounds reopening

in the snagged fibers,

a pulse not quieting,

not quite letting go.