April 2023
Thomas Erickson
The thread is red. It is more yarn-like than thread-like, a loosely twisted braid of fibers. The occasionally broken, almost-invisible fibers, protruding from the braid, are remarkably effective at thwarting my attempts to thread the needle. A tiny red globe of blood wells from my thumb, jewel-like in its intensity, slightly darker than the thread. No doubt this would have been easy for an accomplished seamstress, but I am not that. What I am is a little bit obsessive. I don’t really view it that way, but others might.
Finally I’ve gotten it.
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