avatarAmanda Laughtland

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Abstract

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</p><p id="4d49">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</p><p id="fbc4">the weather with your crackling promise: if we’re disconnected, you’ll call right back.</p><div id="38a8" class="link-block"> <a hr

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ef="https://readmedium.com/change-of-plans-7d96fde9f2f0"> <div> <div> <h2>Change of Plans</h2> <div><h3>A poem on ancestors — with reflections on writing</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*JMjD1d2TnTF2TgAd)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Poetry

In Knots

A little poem with an extended metaphor

Photo by Kristian Strand on Unsplash

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.

Poetry
Writing
Friendship
Relationships
Scuzzbucket
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