Loose Ends

Fraying hemp strands spill over rough knuckles—

a stubborn threadbare mutiny.

I grip the rope, try to will it whole,

but fingers find only splinters,

tiny rebels clutching dirt, leaving gaps.

Patience slips, a slow unraveling,

knots slip through my hands like lost hours,

whispering maybe—no, not again.

Fence post leans, crooked and tired,

and so do I, tangled in threads

that won’t hold tight, no matter how I pull.