Family of Knots
Virginia Jensen
Issue 58, Autumn 2019
On a cloudy day, I bead
and my hands find purpose.
Every bead does just as I say
never questioning my design.
My needle boldly pierces
the ready holes one by one,
gathers the beads into final form.
Only the thread rebels
tying itself in loops and knots.
merciless string, it kinks and twists
heedless of my intentioned bliss,
indifferent to coming stress.
Traffic jams are like that
and some conversations.
words turn and tangle;
opinions are tightened,
misunderstandings twist,
build into hard knots and
have to be picked out with
the insertion of two needles.
Families are like that too,
some belligerent, opinionated;
siblings wrangle, parents angle
for control, dangle promises.
We try to unravel the distress
with a picnic in the sun. rain
falls instead and drowns the charcoal,
but the potato salad is good,
and we stand close to each other
under the shelter, rubbing elbows,
loosening a few threads,
carefully letting go,
the occasional knot.