I am the one who untangles knots.
With fastidious fingers,
And patience aplenty,
I slowly tease them free.
I turn one tiny twist after another,
With the edge of a fine fingernail,
Until I grasp the one that gives,
That separates this solid snarl
By a solitary snippet.
And I approach anew,
Yearning for the next yarn that yields.
I needle nonchalantly into the gnarl.
Still I pull and press and ponder.
Until that sweet surrender,
When no tension tarries
To hold the tangle in your tongue together
And it comes
And all that is left is a languid line in my hand.
Written TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 2011