Loose Ends

I didn’t feel it pop off in the car.

I sat through the budget report

clutching a blue plastic folder to my ribs,

sure that every person in the room

could see the pale triangle of my undershirt.

Walking back to the lot, I scanned the cracks

in the concrete, looking for a pearl-colored dot.

Nothing but gum wrappers and cigarette butts.

There is just one white thread left

looping out from the cotton,

a tiny, tangled noose

swinging in the wind

where something used to be held together.