#508 (unspooling)

This yarn

made of sand

and night skies,

he gently tugs and pulls and

the spool refills as soon

as he thinks he might have

pulled too much.

As if it took on a life

of its own,

regrowing once

he is away

tending to the

saplings in his

frontyard,

collecting laughter

from the winds and

stories from the birds.

What mysterious thread

has he uncovered

now burdened

with spinning it,

the tapestry forming

yet the figures still

not showing clearly.

Shadows of the future,

tinting the fabric

as he spins on

and on

and on.

 

© Matthias Grupe, 12th August 2018

Picture: Tucker Good via unsplash

4 Comments

  1. I’m thinking of this one as you in your athlete’s warm-up suit stretching and exercising before the race. I mean — when I think of what purpose this lovely poem might have.

    1. You do have some odd thoughts, Paul. 😉

      It is really about something else, but your interpretation is interesting. What gave you the impression of a warm-up?

      1. It is about how writing prose turned my head into a complete different direction and how I’m coming back to writing poetry, to clear my head, the saplings being unfinished poems.

        But eventually it is also about the whole experience of writing, this thread, that never ends, that glorious, horrifying thread.

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