Ode to String

Narcissistic string,

always intertwined with yourself

when lost in dark mahogany drawers;

knots are what you prefer.

Look how tightly you hold yourself

in that

jungle of frustration;

the red-finger agony

fighting tangle tantrums.

But you don’t apologize.

So innocent looking— 

a backless beast,

dangling and stirring slightly;

a slave to wind,

a fugitive of Medusa’s hair,

cat’s cradle,

shoe orphan.

But you are charming.

Playful.

Guarding packages when the flaps 

fall asleep.

Leashing the untrained 

stuffed animals of a young child.

Mediating the difference between

wrapped box

and

birthday gift.

Oh string,

puppet manipulator,

candle core,

a fish’s ascent;

You’ll do.

You’ll do.