you, all of you- with your coarse, unraveling hands that shake with anticipation, you bind my loose ends tight. you, with your long and wrinkled fingers that worked long in the sun, you stitched my wound tight with that black thread you spun the morning before. you, who hung my frayed and moth eaten body and hung it on the thin wire in your dusty backyard, left me to be blessed by the sun and kissed by the sky.
what is left, left of me.
