this family was knit with twine
laced with careful yet time-worn fingers
prepared as a duty
patterned by past confessions
the holes sewn feverishly
should we get lost in the storm
no one can say
we didn’t try our best
no one can say
our net wasn’t cast long or hard enough
we sit idly by in this ship
comparing ourselves to the others
as we go down without words
pretending, as a duty
that the twine was enough.
M.
