I’ve been drafting a poem out loud in public for all to see in all its messy, wordy reality. Today, the conclusion. After this, it’ll need some sleep before facing the knife. It’s not high art, but I hope you’ve enjoyed the story of it. THANKS for the emails and comments and tweets, friends!
Continuing from last post.
…I kept it contained
in a cheerful quilted bag
that sat beside my dresser
like a patient in a waiting room,
expecting, every shuffle of activity,
to hear his name called,
but no call comes.
There was nothing in the instructions about this.
(I write these lines while sitting in a waiting room.)
Answers come at their appointed times.
Here, it was two weeks ago Tuesday,
a completely unremarkable morning,
when, first time in two years,
I peeked in the bag
to remember the exact shade of green I had loved.
Right then, sudden and expected, it came –
gentle as a feather falling:
I don’t need to knit this anymore.
It took a few days to muster courage, but now
I slide stitches
off a needle,
the unraveling I’ve needed to accept,
that things will not finish the way I first imagined
…and it’s okay.
I see now
what I could not see for so long,
that something beautiful can still be made
of what remains behind.