Poetry
In Knots
A little poem with an extended metaphor
On the phone, when I say I’m at the end of my rope, do you ever picture me with an actual rope, like a sailor minding a small craft advisory, trying to tie up in the harbor when suddenly
I run out of slack? I might very well be calling you ship to shore, my hands raw and rope-burned as I drift and wait for a storm to pass over. Below deck, I press your voice to my ear, drowning out
the weather with your crackling promise: if we’re disconnected, you’ll call right back.
