Threads

I am a worry doll,
woven of invisible threads of memory that tie me to you,
a worn and frayed fabric of longing
that absorbs the blows of your sorrows and punishments
like magic
in the night.
Spun into my rigid shape
by the tiny needles of fate,
I am sewn away from you
and fixed in another design,
like a patch.

Where is my rightful place?
I do not know
the ultimate pattern.
I long for you
to return,
to unspool the fretful bindings
from my straining,
flushed body
that lie heavy like clothes,
and craft me,
with your burning, clever hands
and reluctant
whispered apology
into a woman,
naked
and new.