We pow-wowed on her basement carpet,
        Colorful, printed pajama pants on every point of
        Our friendship-circle.  The movie had been over
          For quite awhile, the TV still glowing a blank,
    Blue screen.  Bowls of buttered popcorn lay abandoned
      In the couch cushions.  She curled in our center: her
         Friends, her classmates, her peers.  Our concern
        Leapt across the circle every which way, weaving a
        Web of whispers around her.  She shivered, but it
          Wasn't from the chill in the air.  We had left our
       Girl-talk, our weekly gossip, the new boy at school,
          Our appalling parents; instead we feasted upon
           One of us.  She was the bonfire and we gladly
                Warmed ourselves, rubbing our hands.
      She began slowly; we listened, as all good friends do.
          She continued, and choking, she spat out bits of
            Thread and yarn, unraveling before our eyes.
      Stained, old carpet absorbed her tears, begging us to
            Knit her back together, but we could only fight
                   Over the moist strands of her story.