sets of two rows
four rows six rows up to
repeating, steady, soothingly same.
This is not what life is like.
Life is like picking up a
tousled hunk of yarn
pulled out of the basket
by an impatient child
looking for a string
too many times.
You find an end.
You follow the thread for a while
and sooner or later you hit a
tangle, knots and
twists and loops all mixed up
Sometimes I sit there and untangle it.
Pulling little by little until I have one
piece stretched out and can go on to
the next one.
Sometimes I grab a pair of scissors and
cut. Enough. I only needed a little,
But sometimes I hold the tangle
in my hand.
Amazed for a moment
at the complexity. The mess.
I look at it and think,
this can't be solved. It just is.
There are patterns, connections,
the thread turning back on itself,
as life also does.
The tangled things will always be here,
in this moment I am living through,
right now, whatever comes after.
Even if I work through this.
Even if I cut the cord and walk away.
Look at the tangled knot in the yarn.
Look at how it hurts.