The purple skein of yarn is no more.
It has run away–
Hi ho, away I say! Away.
Sweater half begun. No one
left to don it. No one, I say!
The sink is empty, the tree
uprooted. My life? It’s
been one long improv. An
improv, I say! One two three
five–no, four, dammit! I
never did get it right, a life
of improvisation….
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I like how you used improvisation to characterize your life. I suspect mine has been like that as well. I didn’t think of it like that before.
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Thanks, Frank. I guess I got a little loose in parts of it.
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That’s all we can do, Nan. Improvise as we go along, even at our age. I smiled reading this.
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Gee, I’m glad you smiled! : D
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“Sweater half begun. No one / left to don it.”…Too deep for words. A beautiful poem.
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This is delightful Nan. I love the opening with that disappearing purple skein and I raise a glass to the dance of improv. 1,2 3,5 here we go 😉
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Thanks for posting this! I can relate. I think we are all just tripping and guessing our way along this life. Nicely done!
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Thanks, Nosaint! (I’m one too).
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this is the bit that speaks to me…The sink is empty, the tree uprooted. It carries on doesn’t it- the world -when we are gone. That is the odd bit.
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Odd is one word for it, I guess. I can understand cave man not wanting to let go of his ancestors.
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