"When your eyes have done their part, Thought must length it in the heart." —Samuel Daniel . . . Thought lengths it, pulls an invisible world through a needle's eye one detail at a time, beginning with the glint of blond down on his knuckle as he crushed a spent cigarette— I can see that last strand of smoke escaping in a tiny gasp—above the table where a bee fed thoughtfully from a bowl of sugar. World of shadows! where his thumb lodged into the belly of an apple, then split it in two, releasing the scent that exists only in late summer’s apples as we bit into rough halves flooded with juice. Memory meticulously stitches the market square where stalls of fruit ripened in the heat. Stitches the shadows stretched and pulled across the ground by the crowds pigeons seemed to mimic in their self-important but not quite purposeful strutting, singly and in droves. Stitches the unraveling world where only vendors and policemen stood in place.
"The Needle" from The Needle by Jennifer Grotz. Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer Grotz. Used by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.