Parlay with Friends

(unfinished, like all the best conversations)

Today was a parlay with friends—
we sat on unsteady chairs,
a sunken sofa and a beat-up armchair.

The coffee table was nice.

We told stories and drank our beers.
She watched us as she worked,
learning to sew her kimono—
her fingers moving slow.

No rush.
No words.
No parlay.

I watched the needle pull thoughts through fabric,
watched her glance up between stitches,
checking her master’s hand.

Her face told me she was stitching together more than cloth—
rips unseen in the space between her and another.
A space without parlay—no justice, no say.

I didn’t ask.
I let her sewing heal the past.

We stayed.
We talked.
We shared—

Running out of time to catch it all up.

Our parlay for the day,
complete in some unsatisfying way.

Stay well, dear.
Stitches,
heal the fray.