A pattern, a pattern, she said.
The pieces forming the whole
the whole falling into pieces.
A stitch to the right,
then to the left
then maybe a turn, she whispered.
But the needle was sharp
when held to the light.
And the thread could not mend
where the words have been.
A wrong stab then a drop,
her kiss on the center of the cloth.
She took back thread, needle, and pattern.
A grim look and a dark patch
beside the hand going down and up.
The pieces still pieces,
never forming the whole
though she tied them tightly.
But the pattern is back,
I see it, I told her.
She led me, my hand inside hers
into the center, start then end.
Held in the light, the pattern ate up
my words, my thoughts.
—-
RedRose Serrano was born in Davao City. She is currently taking up BS Computer Science in UP Mindanao.