I have thread and needle,
jars of buttons, even a zipper or two,
just in case—
in case something valuable needs mending.
The problem seems to be
that I possess nothing of value,
other than my heart,
even if it’s labeled heavy duty,
is no use there.
A spool of love is what I need,
but I’ve looked,
and there is none to be found.
Of course, other offerings abound:
I can get Arctic White and Winter White,
but love is warmer than that.
Atom Red, Bright Red, or Maroon
might match my heart,
but the stitches would never hold.
Some want me to place an order for love,
but they won’t guarantee delivery.
Others assure me that they
can offer me love next week,
while the pushy ones
try to sell me something else.
None of it is any good to me.
I can accept no substitutes,
and I continue to hope
that I’ll find some soon.
So until I acquire the real thing,
I’ll pull my coat close
and hope no one sees
my threadbare, tattered heart.
Then I’ll pray as I button up
that no one asks me to use it.