Loose Threads - May 30

 

Loose Threads

May 30 2024



My mother would straighten.

A nudge here and there

to set things just right.

Another light dusting,

bed sheets tucked tight.

All the spines aligned,

titles upright.

She bequeathed this to me.

I too

putter, neaten, fuss.

Have a place for everything,

an unerring eye

for the least insurgent detail.

I would love to be more laissez faire,

but it seems it’s in the blood.

If only life

was susceptible to straightening.

If it didn’t throw up curves

setbacks and diversions,

wasn’t booby-trapped

with irksome dead ends.

Didn’t sabotage

our best laid plans,

trap us in cul de sacs

that turn back on themselves.

If only I were in charge,

able to keep myself

like a neatly kept house;

every knick-knack

in its appointed place,

no blind alleys

to stumble down,

no loose threads.

But life isn’t

and I am not.

Events happen,

and more often than not

I’m inadequate.

It seems the universe

prefers it this way.

Because space/time is curved.

Because nothing is straight

as long as light bends

and matter attracts.

Because even the earth

wobbles erratically

as it circles the sun,

its central axis

tilted up.