Stubborn Hold

A clothespin hangs, chipped paint in the breeze,

its teeth still gripping, though worn with unease,

a small warrior, rusted and weathered,

holding up laundry, like dreams that have tethered.

I wrestled with heaps, tangled threads of my past,

how we clip our hopes, hoping they’ll last,

this fragile little piece, such power it wields,

it clings to our choices, our secrets revealed.

As it flutters in wind, a reminder that life,

is built on the small things, joy mingled with strife,

how even when broken, it holds on so tight,

we’re stitched together, in darkness and light.