In the White Room

The hum and pop
of fallen branches
in the woodstove

have turned to birdsong
since the day
the unraveling began,

since the moment she tugged
the string
and it was impossible

not to notice
that the whole thing
wanted to come

undone,
and how she now lets
the pieces fall

to the floor
like curiosities,
her fingers winding

and unwinding strands
with the hesitation
and dexterity

of someone
who can finally see
for the first time.

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4 thoughts on “In the White Room

  1. yes, yes! love where you are going, where everything is falling, and how you are boldly participating.

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