This afternoon I looked at the fraying
elbow of my favorite gray hoodie
the warp threads
white-fuzz strings hanging loose
revealing snatches of blue blouse underneath.
I don’t remember seeing them
last week or this morning.
I wonder about the exact instant
the weft threads worked themselves free
and where they went when they left.
Do they now rest as dust on bookcases,
ledges and chests?
Had I been aware, would I have taken
a needle and thread
caught them in a net of attention
at the second they began their
What if we could notice
the moment when
if we could catch
the threads before
they fly off to become something else
if we could bind them together
to make the center hold?
Meridel Kahl retired in 2013 after 45 years of teaching—the last 27 at The College of St. Scholastica in Duluth, Minnesota. She loves every minute of her new life, especially the time she has to write. Her poems have appeared in WritersRead, The Peninsula Pulse, Amethyst and Agate: Poems of Lake Superior, The Thunderbird Review, and The Talking Stick.