twine across the room--the first
looked like a slanted tightrope
wire. The second, too. We'd pin
one end to the wall and unfurl
the skein, pinning and pinning
haphazardly, working hard to deny
order or reason to our weave.
When we loved the composition,
we crawled through it, giant
spiders in a crazy web, a safety
zone. A place where drunk fathers
and sobbing mothers dare not enter.
We moved through the quadrilaterals
and triangles of twine, catching small
winged things in our net as we might
our missing hearts and lost hope.
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