Back Around

Back Around

I knew if I waited you’d come

back around

Around

out from the covers

you hide under

Keeping out the light

You said,

and I heard,

but then you went

back around

While I went forward

and forward and forward

And you were there

told me to go on ahead

you’d be

back around

You were there

behind

Even though you said

and I heard

Maybe I didn’t hear.

But you said.

Maybe you didn’t hear.

Behind the smile

Behind the tears

Water for another flower

Mistake for another night

Try as I might,

The strings pull me

Back around.

And I can’t find my scissors.

Use them on myself,

Cut it all to shreds

but god damn if I can

Slide the these threads

Between the blades

So I bring the loops back around

Knitting closed

the dropped steps

And hoping the stitches hold

Hooked

until I can bring myself

Back again.

Light

My newest Dark Yarn Production. 

This one is light. 

Sometimes there is too much dark. 

My hands yearned to craft the possible. 

A warmth made for hope, for love

with gratitude and longing.

To be given for comfort

without expectation. 

One to protect in coldness.

One to stroke for calm. 

One whose  greatest role

is to be set aside, when

love can do those things

in its place.

For days of light. 

Getting Used

 

 

 

Making a tangle of mine
from beauty that isn’t.

 

Getting Used

 

We all get used.

 

Get used by the ones who want

what we fought for or

What we got in the bet

we didn’t have any money on.

 

Used by the ones who promised

to keep and have and hold.

Because you’re alone and it’s 2 AM and

bottles won’t make themselves and

the bottle lost its cork

and bloody nipples

make the milk pink.

 

Fight back,

they say.

Stand up,

they shout.

Don’t

get

used.

 

Being needed is one thing.

But needing?

Don’t do that.

Don’t ever need.

 

You’ll get used.

 

I’ve been used.

 

And now, I’m afraid…

 

I’m getting used.

 

Getting used to having him there

 

Used to asking and assuming

that I don’t have to ask.

 

Used to us.

Used to together.

Used to two pillows,

one blanket.

 

Two alarms,

on one nightstand

 

Used to ‘I forget whose book this is.’

And ‘can I borrow your socks?’

 

Used to ‘just text my mom.’

And ‘I’ll hang out with him while you’re gone,

we’ll be fine.’

 

Used to a voice that whispers

when mine is screaming.

 

Smiles when

all I can do is cry.

 

What if I get used

 

and then it goes away;

 

 

 

how do I get used to that?

 

Isn’t it better,

Softer,

to stay safely used,

unused safe.

 

Back in the corner,

tucked with the other,

like a gnarled ball of yarn,

used,

un-new,

well-worn

editions-

 

knowing our place

taking comfort

in slouched, bent

spines,

folded edges.

 

But I can’t

stay back,

stay away.

 

He picks me up

glides fingers

over me-

sees me,

reads me,

understands my story

and hears my words.

 

I didn’t want love.

 

Now, I’m used to it.

 

And for it,

I’ll risk a someday

soon

on the shelf

for a tonight

a last

in his hands.

Chance horror

for the glimpse

at a last page

with a happy ending.

 

Long novel happy,

not short story.

Time for the characters

to learn, change,

diverge plots

and find their

place between the many pages.

 

Because

getting love

getting close

getting hurt

getting away inside

getting a glimpse

getting to smile-

not always-

but at least once every day,

getting everything

at least

until the yarn

runs out.

As we knew when we bought it

risked the unravel

and started to knit

together.

 

I’m getting used.

 

 

 

 

 

Intrigued by my dark yarns? My new book Drowning Above Water is now available at Amazon. 

Pre-teen Blanket

This is my latest Dark Yarn. 

On the surface, it’s not dark. It’s bright and cozy. The idea is adorable. My son’s new step-brother has a nursery filled with Winnie the Pooh and friends. 

I couldn’t quite bring myself to make the baby a new blanket. I started. I tried. His mother and grandmother are beautiful yarn artists, so the young one with have his share of cuddly wrappings. It’s good he didn’t need mine. Because I couldn’t keep going. 

I wanted to make a blanket for my own son. But, one he could share with his new brother. The one who shares his father and his initials and his half-birthday. 

So, we came up with this pre-teen blanket. No too baby-ish. (I was warned. Several times. Someone is not a baby.) But something that could bridge the gap between the boys-the distance spanning their rooms and their ages.

It wasn’t an easy blanket to crochet. Technically, it was simple. Emotionally, it was a tangle of dropped stitches and twisted wool. 

My heart hurt as I wrapped and pulled. I cried a bit. I made an absolute mess of the red yarn. I ripped it apart. I put it back together. And I kept on going. One stitch at a time. 

I hope both of these boys like their blanket. Something to share. Something to remember. 

I’m so glad I made it. 

And I hope I can keep on going.