My arms are full
clutching balls of burdened wool
all so hard to hold
as they each unravel
Spilling strands of sadness
down from my weary arms
onto the waiting floor.
Struggling, I try to hold onto them all
Try to bring the straying strands
back to me, back to their skeins.
It is a tangled mess
Impossible to unravel.
Too much confusion to comprehend.
Overwhelmed with exhaustion,
I notice a
waiting on the floor beside me.
How is it that I haven’t seen it?
Has it been there
all this time through my struggles?
Kneeling, I gently place the mess of burdened wool,
The sorrowful skeins
Into the basket,
Laying my burdens down.
It is still a confused and tangled mess
But I stand tall, free and unburdened.
The confusion is still there;
I can see it, and it sees me.
But I carry it no longer
close to my heart.
I have let it go, released it.
No longer do I have to struggle to untangle
each mess of sorrow
For now, I am content.
Maybe one day I will pick each one up
Try to untangle,
Try to make each one whole again.
But for now,
Sheri King Ward, 2014