Poetry by | March 7, 2010

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.

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