2017, poetry

The hammock

We sat on her hammock.
swinging slightly back and forth,
by the motion of our legs.
It breaks.
and we land on our butts,
laughing.

She gets up,
wipes nthe dirt off her ass,
and runs into the house
to bring back a roll of nylon thread.

She takes some twine off the spool
To repair it.
her fingers tie a series of sailor’s knots.

I could see where’s
She’s repaired it the same way
over and over again.
She tells me
It was her Father’s.
It was the only thing she had of his.

I replied ‘i guess years from now.
This gonna all be rebuilt’

She laughs,
‘yeah like my heart,
by sailor’s knots.’

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