“Stringing Me Along” by T. Boehle-Satterfield

string art
The story was told in bits and pieces,
Odds and ends.
Like a ball of seemingly useless threads
Pulled from garments,
Left overs from spools,
Tied together until collectively they amount to something that requires organization.
And in the wrapping and wrapping,
And the wrapping
and more wrapping,
The hands become practiced at fretting and ruminating and conniving
And conceiving.
Over and over and over again.
At smoothing and soothing and accepting
The unexpected,
The unacceptable.

That which is exceptional.

What use is it?
This ferris wheel.
This hamster wheel.
This wheely, wheely, wheely, wheel?
And in a lifetime,
Loose ends
Are all wrapped up.
One last breath.
The memory of a plan
And relief to leave it go.
Breathing in,
And on the out breath
Hand falls out of bed
From my side,
Opens.
A ball rolls cross the floor.
Colorful,
Finely textured,
Playful, and bawdy in all it’s raw beauty.

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