Selvedges

I carefully thread
the eye

(choose my fragments of fiber)

sew a child up           fight the flat line              sew the blue lips red
       sew the broken, corpse of a child     blue lipped


split the sternum           throw the shag carpet out                     sweep the cells clean
    rearrange aortic architecture        replace the leaking, shattered window



knock down the red wall                 expand                    the right atrium (for the baby)


stitch the sternum.

thread catches, chokes and I think
stitches will splinter, unravel, spill tiny furniture.

I am afraid of knives

but not needles.

Hannah Rose Neuhauser is from Louisville, KY, but currently lives in Ann Arbor where she works at 826michigan. She spends most of her time with words, young authors, and robots. She has creative nonfiction in Cactus Heart Literary Journal and forthcoming work in Maudlin House and apt.