Spiders and Salt

Weaving is therapeutic. 
There’s something soothing about the repetitive process, 
It’s methodical; it’s deliberate; it’s calming. 
Unspooling and unraveling 
Then interlacing and entwining. 
I can check out, 
And let my fingers take the lead
Ginger & dainty; patient 
Like spiders 
Dangling from my wrists
Wrapping and binding, 
Sewing and stitching across the loom. 
I don’t have to think. 
Just dip, and then pull 
Tuck, then pluck. 
And repeat. 

It’s lyrical, really; rhythmic, 
Like I’m playing the harp. 
Tugging away
At my own heartstrings. 

It’s meditative: 
The only thing I can relate it to 
Is when someone dies
And you clean to cope, 
Because it’s mindless
Yet gratifying
And you feel accomplished and satisfied
While on the verge of tears.

And it’s okay
Because at least you’re making progress. 














Am I really making progress?





“the patterns laid out on the bed
with dozens of colors of thread
but you’ve got the needle
I guess that’s the point of it all”










I’m sick of winter. 
And it’s barely over. 

I’m sick of being chilled to the bone
I’m sick of shoveling. 

I’m sick of the salt staining the bottoms of my jeans
And the tops of my shoes
It looks like snail’s trails
Dusted in luminescent dandruff. 
Or cocaine.



I’m not ready for February

“it does seem like everything conspires against you when your heart is raw… watching all these reunited happy couples joyously making out and trundling off together to be in love in the snow”







I want to trundle too. 

















Someone gave me a fortune cookie yesterday
For the Chinese new year,

“in love” my fortune explained, “you could shine as a brilliant star”







I could dazzle.
I want to shine. 









I wish people thought artists were sexy. 

“You painted that? Let’s bang”




But really, what’s more poetic and romantic than an artist?



A poet, I suppose. 

Whatever. 





I’ll just weave for now,
And talk to the spiders. 

“they’ve got the permanent press, 
and the homes with the stable address, 
and they’ve got excitement 
and life by the fistful
but we’ve got the meaning
I guess that’s the point of it all”