WWP Poem #10: Needle and Thread

Silver dash. A flickering, unforked tongue
seeking its end somewhere under my skin,
gliding easily between the borders of cells. A little refugee
pulls thread behind her, like driving pickup trucks
full of the brown and bruised sliding unseen
into country somewhere south of El Paso. The thread
is black, cheap, and worsted under twilight,
a broken-edged creation wrought in blindness.

Long chrome tooth, lanky and lean,
diving in and out of me. She leaves long trails
of black knots wrapped around strangled skin wherever she goes.
She waits for my skin to split open, to leap and dive
from fallow bands bordering a new red river: another tear, another
new tributary. I grow these red jagged lines
in my sleep, but bleeding is too expensive: it’s her job
to keep me stitched up. I cannot afford to
split lines down my sides, shedding my stuffing,
leaking and loosing life in little tsunamis
into our bed with coiled, foam-capped teeth.

Look at me. I am a map. I have railroad lines,
zipped black teeth that cover five hundred miles of country
easy. Look at the graceful s-curve embossed
into my left shoulder, the straight line love
splitting me into from my navel to my
breastbone. My left leg’s been stitched back on
at least three times, the scars now a trio of
whispering trajectory curves from pubis to gluteus,
tracing their flights around my boy-toned hips. And
see the little indentations, the bite marks
circling my right wrist: that is from where
I lost my right hand back in ’94. It was reconnected
ten years later – but sometimes the fingers don’t move,
the knuckles don’t shout and flex,
and my pen lies limp.

This is the cheap way of living.
You close exits. You sew up tears.
You swallow blue lumps. You
shove oceans under your tongue until they turn to acid
to prevent their escapes. You
learn to love ratty old black thread and
sharp chrome slivered pain because
you cannot find gloved hands, a clean room, or
a masked stranger wearing antiseptic green to
repair you. You buy more black thread
with footsteps like coins, your bare feet in flight
blurred together, heartbeats that forget to touch
the ground. The shortest distance between two points
is not a straight line: it is how
you pinch the length of time between them shut
with your endless running. Problem is,
no one ever tells you that you gain those coins
by trading in your own breath.

Written 7/8/10
© 2010 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

This poem was written for WWP Prompt #10: Object Poems. Mallery instructed us to write a poem concerning an object: look at it from multiple angles, consider how it feels and tastes, its use, its shape, and so forth. I went a little beyond the object itself, which as you know from the title is a needle and thread. I hope you enjoyed reading this poem.

Stumble It!
Stumble It!

Bookmark and Share


About ravenswingpoetry

I am a 38 year old writer from Columbus, OH and the creator of Raven's Wing Poetry. I am a poet, seeker, fellow traveler, and autistic.
This entry was posted in Poems, Prompt Poems, WWP Prompt Poem and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to WWP Poem #10: Needle and Thread

  1. This poem totally engages me on all sensory levels—
    Love these lines:

    I cannot afford to
    split lines down my sides, shedding my stuffing,
    leaking and loosing life in little tsunamis

  2. brenda w says:

    Nicole…This needle opened you to an inspired piece. I love this. “you close exits” Start to finish this engages reader me, and makes me want to read more. You have a gift, truly.

  3. pamela says:

    Nicole this is an awesome poem Wow!The imagery is inbelieveable!

  4. pieceofpie says:

    sewing has always intrigued me, but this particular needle and thread has me bound up… this she who waits with bated breath to sew with knots and black thread where does the next tear appear… wow… the trade off while breathing is to find that certain place

  5. irene says:

    hi Nicole, the idea of psychological stitching is so strong in your poem. I get an image of a stitched up body full of threaded lines.

    You close exits. You sew up tears.
    You swallow blue lumps.


  6. Mallery says:

    Nicole, I love this! I second Linda about it touching on so many sensory levels. I’m impressed that you wove such a long poem out of this prompt, I usually get only very small pieces from object-focused poems. Great job!

  7. wayne says:

    threaded and needled nicely….thanks for sharing your work

  8. Linda Goin says:

    What wonderful images and such a sad persona, almost drained of grief for her wounds. You have such a gift of making the intangible tangible, Nicole. I know where this comes from, but you have a handle on it, it seems. Jealous, much, me? Oh sure.

    Thanks for your images.

  9. Mary says:

    I just love where this poem took you! You have explored so many aspects of needle and thread…..and beyond.


  10. derrick2 says:

    Very powerful imagery and emotion in this, Nicole, as with all your writing. We can see those railroad tracks of stitches and the tributaries of blood. Amazing!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s