I sewed for five years, reluctantly.
Always hated tying thread-ends
together.
Then a Russian man showed me,
“Just roll them all between your
fingers.”
So I licked the ends—
roll, fold, roll—
And those strands,
in trying to unwind,
formed a knot.
A solid knot.
Every time.
“Such a waste!”
I'm tempted to linger.
But start remembering
Hours I spent
slowly tying my shoes,
While adults rolled their eyes.
And re-writing my loop-lettered name
a thousand sloppy times.
Pain in my shoulder
from before
I learned to lift weights right.
Hot words I spit on people,
Before seeing “Oh, this problem's mine.”
A beautiful face,
I never talked to.
A question for my
favorite old neighbor,
I never asked.
A plate of rich flavors
I waved away.
A trip to “When else?”
That I let pass.
My mind could lose itself counting the holes.
But I'd just as soon fill myself double, where I'm going—
Wrapping my head, heart, and hands around
The inevitable waste of growing.
