Unraveling

An Unraveling

The slow unwinding of a skein. New colors, patterns, textures to find. Will there ever come an end of the unraveling? Will we come to an end and then….nothing?

Or, if there is an end, looking behind, we find not a jumble of ribbons gathered, but a weaving of love and learning.


Finding out about someone is a wonderful process, an unraveling à deux.

In Night Flight

A Night Flight

At night above
the golden laced beadwork of urbanity.
A conspicuous lack of light,
a forest dark.

The lights of urbanization can sometimes break my heart, but I have to admit they are beautiful from the air at night. They are beautiful, I just dislike what they represent. It is a conflict; similar to the Kennecott Copper Mines. I dislike that they are such a rape of the earth and have had toxic output, but when it comes down to it...the talus sides are aesthetically beautiful to me.

Each Person a Pinch Point

Each Person a Pinch Point

Multiple lines, lives fusing

Joining, conjoining the lines and lives down to me

A pinch point

This is a poem I worked on this summer, I am not sure it is finished. It came about while finding out about my ancestors. It was miraculous to realize the multiple lines that went into creating each person and then the multitude of lines that can come from each person. It was a little tragic to consider that I might be a terminus, that there might be no branching out from me.

Each person is a pinch point of lines before and after. It resembles a tree and we are the trunk.