THREAD

a stranger

takes a knife

and cuts

don’t look,

he says

I do it anyway

slowly

the knife slides

along the lifeline

opens

four centimeters

I look deep down into a chasm

the past echoes and falls silent

I have six centimeters left

a stitched-together wound

reddens

soaked thread

passes through the flesh

forms a bow

like on a package

from grandma

the ruined lifeline

wakes from a coma

pretends to exist

with phantom pain

I act as if nothing is wrong

but still feel it

this too shall pass,

he says

numbness goes numb

except it is

here to stay

the timeline bends

the circle is closed

a bold scar

forms a bridge

between beginning and end

here and now

Natasha S.