December 14, 2009
I am a needle.
I wonder what my trail leaves behind.
I hear her cry as she guides me through life.
I see her leaving on the edge of a new needle.
I want to help.
I am a needle.

I pretend that she does not hurt, that my patterns make her happy.
I feel her hand tremble as I slide through the fabric.
I touch the soul of the quilt and I understand.
I worry that what she sees is too blurry.
I cry tears of silk and cotton.
I am a needle.

I understand her need for me.
I say need me.
I dream that she does.
I try to finish the pattern by myself, but I cannot.
I hope she picks up the right needle today.
I am a needle.

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