String Game
In your hands, a maze of white string.
Like leashes lopped from balloons,
the strands loop between digit and palm.
You hold distance between your hands.
And tension. You pull your wrists apart
to keep them netted together.
Here. Let me reach into the outlines
of diamonds spanning your fingers,
and pinch the corners. I will put my hands
into the laced-up space, and rework
it. Let me take it from you so that I
might weave new shapes, new openings.
This is a wonderful depiction of the string game, bringing back memories of the simple shapes I could make when I was a child. "You hold distance between your hands. And tension." "I will put my hands into the laced-up space, and rework it... so that I might weave new shapes, new openings." The final lines can make this poem mean so much more. I always appreciate the multiple meanings inherent in your poems.
ReplyDeleteReading this poem I want to weep and rejoice.
ReplyDeleteI have had heart felt discussions these past days with a dear girl friend about our (however distinct) marriages.
We are both in a growing, stretching time, trying to find out own space but also coordinating in various family members. It's complicated, this sharing of time & space & life.
I am going to send her a copy of this poem, which tells so much so beautifully.
Thank you for this. Reading it feels like opening a gift.