The Unraveling

The microphone stand was a foot too tall,

a silver neck stretching toward the gym ceiling.

I stood in the light, feeling remarkably small,

with a sudden and terrible, wide-open feeling.

A loose thread of wool caught the edge of the stool,

and as I stepped back, the knit started to go.

I was the singer, the star, and the fool,

watching my sweater divide in the show.

I saw a kid trip in the store by the fruit,

and I wanted to tell him it’s fine to be bare.

To be the one standing in a half-ruined suit,

with nothing but music and cold, open air.