Threadbare

by Richard Stimac

---

Sometimes I pick at myself, and pull at snagged threads
of my life, words, deeds, thoughts, woven in weft and warp,
pulled against my bias, well-worn, yet form-fitting.
I draw the unsightly yarn inward, and unseen.
When knotted well, I cut what has become excess.
I keep the fabric of my life taut, and good as new.
Rips occur, as they will, and left unwatched, they grow:
a death; an illness; a loss of job; a loved one
we’re scared to call. Some wounds cannot be sutured shut.
I’ve laid my life out like a wardrobe, each loose seam,
pieces stitched together, till I rip them apart
as if I were sticking my finger through my soul.

---

Richard Stimac lives in the St. Louis area. He published Blood, Water, and Stone (Spartan Press, 2026); and Bricolage (Spartan Press, 2022). Richard explores time and memory through the landscape and humanscape of the St. Louis region. He invites you to follow his poetry Facebook page, “Richard Stimac poet.”

Read More