A Stilled Harp,
Literary: Stitched
Stitches, stitches
Which thread do I pick?
Do I do a backstitch
Or do I do a random stitch?
Stitches stitches
It feels as if my heart is in stitches
Such memories I’ve rendered
That badly I wanted to surrender
Stitches stiches
Stitches in my mind
I grab my needle and thread
To stitch everything and have a rest
Stitches stitches
Something crawled into my mind
Hands wringing then stiffening
Teeth gnarled, I’m about to scream-
Stitches, stitches:
The room’s now full of stitches
Through the cracks of the ceilings
Threads and stitches you’ll see
Red over black
Then black over red
A thin thread of black
A thick thread of red
Stitches stitches
The wall’s adorned with stitches,
All pictures and memories
Fastened with threads
Stitches stitches
My ballpens are in stitches,
So are my watches,
My morning clock
My study lamp.
Down in the kitchen,
It’s also full of stitches.
Stitches in the cupboard
Through its wooden doors
Stitches on the refrigerator.
Through its metallic doors
Inside are my apples
That are in stitches
Through its red cavity
Wound the same threads
Always red and black
Always thick over thin
Look at my watermelons.
My cakes, my sauces
Salt and other spices
Nothing left not in stitches
Next is my living room--
My stitched living room.
The glass window is stitched,
So are the clocks and calendars.
My whole house is in stitches;
My car, my plants.
All are in stitches,
Even the cement walls are in stitches
The only thing that wasn’t stitched--
Isn’t stitched, is me.
I took my needle and thread
And to people like you, I said:
“Deep inside my chest,
There’s something torn into pieces
It’s just there waiting,
Waiting to get stitched.”
So, to ignore the pain,
I stitched everything else in place.
Everything that I could see:
Stitched it would be.
You might say “She’s insane,”
Or “She’s just in vain.”
But I hope you’ll understand
What this really meant
The red thread
Is the what you have presented
What I expect is love
But what you give is blood
The black thread
Represents the darkness
Which you’ve drawn into me
Like a disease invading a body
I did everything I can
I made your quilt
Which you use when in cold
In the middle of the night
I made your towel
Which you use when working
In the middle of the day
Through the fields of grain
I made your blanket
Which I cover you with
Everytime when you’re sick
Or when it’s time for sleeping
Now I tried to forget
Forget these things
And control the anger
Through stitching objects
Stitches stitches
I won’t stop with stitches
I grab my needle and thread
And start stitching, forget the rest
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