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  • Taryn Dunkin

Cross Stitch

Updated: Mar 20

There is a buoyant thread

in my memory of curiously

woven moments. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

A smiling morning.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

At least two occasions

in the still of night.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

And, In my treehouse,

pretending to enjoy

for what I thought was nobody,

the blackberry "jam" I made

out of under-ripe berries

that reached keenly for

my treehouse window.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Then there was the time

on a frothy Seashelt shore

during a school camping trip,

when I stole away

from the antics of dumb boys.

Their idiotic raucus drifted

over the beach, as I waltzed

with the salt water, it leading.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Then, as a young scientist in

my parents' dusty garage

concocting with plastic

cups and rain.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

At each stitch in time

there was something

too good

to be dismissed

as chemistry.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Someone.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

I recognized you

near me, when I sang praises

of your glory into the thunder

of white caps.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

I recognized you

walking with me

at twilight. ⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

I was made to. ⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

You knit me

with you

in these stitches that

hold me together,⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

mending everything⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

in advance.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

All along,

the thread

was you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀



⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. John 10:27

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