Reweaving The Loom

June 26, 2025|Poetry

I am being remade
from the marrow out.

Golden threads
find their way into me,
not from outside,
but from the deepest cells,
where silence and memory meet.

The loom was frayed.
Torn by stories
not mine to carry.
But now,
the base threads glisten.

Safety.
The first strand.
The sacred one
all else is woven upon.

With each breath,
the pattern repairs.
With each exhale,
a stitch unbinds from shame,
a knot releases from fear.

This is not forgetting.
This is reweaving.

A story reshaped
from the inside out,
not by force,
but by gold.

By the quiet knowing
that I was always worthy
of warmth,
of wholeness,
of being held
by a thread that would never break.