The Slipknot

My phone glowed blue in the dark kitchen,

a tutorial for a trucker's hitch.

Fingers on screen, quick and sure,

looping the rope, pulling it taut, secure.

I watched the digital loop,

again, and again, the perfect swoop.

And a dull ache settled in my chest,

for the shifting boxes, the broken rest

from last month's trip, the contents spilled.

This knot, so simple, would have killed

the worry, held it all in place.

Too late, I trace the screen, my tired face

reflected in the unearned skill.

A quiet, useless thrill.