Holding On

Found it crumpled, in the laundry pile,

that old blue shirt, thin at the seam.

A tiny rip, had been there a while,

like a crack in some long-forgotten dream.

Almost tossed it, but something caught.

A quick thread, through the eye, a small act.

My stitches, not perfect, a little bit fraught,

but they pulled the edges back, a quiet pact.

It won't be new, not ever again, you see.

But it's held. Just enough. Just barely there.

A small repair, on something close to me.

A fragile thing, that still has some wear.