11/03/2024
Oh yes❣️❣️❣️
when it happens
—the thread, knotting itself
into a tightness
i have to let go
soften my grip
retrace my steps
send my fingers in
on cat-feet
now, allowing it
to become a meditation
i am forced to choose
—cut, or work at the knot
a bit longer
i have done both
{here, i am no longer talking about embroidery thread}
often, and all at once
and also, with the slowness
it takes to heal a broken thing
{perhaps, the space between two people}
the thread becomes
unimportant
{in other words, there are more important things to grab hold of}
even if it is vintage
even if you found it
in a charity shop
even if it is the precise shade
of a buttercup, or
the stamen of purple crocus
{in other words, a thing that is fragile, and delicate, that has seen many seasons}
the knot becomes
a place of undoing, or
freedom
and sometimes
a place of sighing, an exhale
and weeping
{also, sometimes, they are all the same thing}
perhaps, this is no longer
a poem about thread
rather, it is to say
that anything can be undone
any knot can be loosened
walk there
with your feet bare
and slowly
{if you are there
you will know what i mean
by this}
{if you are there, and if you are serious about it, you have to walk on bare feet, and gentle feet, if you are carrying an offering to a bruised heart, perhaps a yellow songbird singing a trust song woven together from new notes}
if it is the yellow of corn
or a dandelion, perhaps
a wedding ring
i don’t know what else to say
anything can be undone
and by undone, i mean
healed.
© Liezel Graham 2024
{📷 a charity shop find… a vintage thread, a brand that is no longer made…even more important to undo the knots with gentle fingers}
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