…”Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that argues against, or somehow questions, a proverb or saying. They say that “all cats are black at midnight,” but really? Surely some of them remain striped. And maybe there is an ill wind that blows some good. Perhaps that wind just has some mild dyspepsia. Whatever phrase you pick, I hope you have fun complicating its simplicity. “
A Stitch in Time Saves Nothing
Well, no. I’ve stitched.
As soon as I saw the hole
that opened up along a seam. Crooked,
that stitch, so I ripped it out and stitched
again. And again. And again.
Still crooked. And now what time have I saved?
Not really visible, that small gap along the hem.
Lost in the patterned fabric, no-one saw but me.
In the time I spent putting four stitches in
and taking them out again, what else might I have done?
Read a book chapter. Made a grilled cheese sandwich.
Drank one required glass of water. Eaten an apple.
Watched an episode of My Cat from Hell. Played
with my own cat from Hell. No, wait—
she’s just from Purgatory.
Carol A. Stephen
April 7, 2022
Quillfyre 