Threads



Last night was another
of those social evenings,
smiling, meeting strangers.
My husband wore his
leather sport coat, I
wore a black dress
wrapped in a favorit
knitted scarf.

Conversation filled
the evening. They
picked a thread from
the past—their first date—
and pulled, until we
grabbed a soft
blue thread from our past,
our honeymoon in Germany.
Then we laughed
at soggy garments,
cleansed in the front,
mud striped in the back:
the joy of bicycle
trips in the rain. Threads
tangled as we pulled
through our lives.

After appetizers
we shared pictures
of our children, family
portraits, cute grandchildren.
Sipping wine, we discovered
we all lost luggage
in Spain, but only my husband
lost a backpack in London.
The wine and life stories
continued, unraveling
the weft and warp of our lives.