A loose thread caught on a door

A loose thread, caught on a door,

a familiar fray.

My best shirt, the one that always

had to mend and stay.

Fingers clumsy, needle small,

a tiny, silver spear.

Pushing through the rough-spun cloth,

my concentration clear.

An uneven line, a slight pull,

a thumb pricked, a drop of red.

Holding it together, one more time,

what needs to be said

is that some things are worth the work,

even if the repair is plain.

This hem will hold, at least until

the next small tear or strain.