Untied

scraps collected
saved & shaped to stanzas
or laid out with care on paper
like starched & ironed organza
                                  crushed
            oh those crumpled hours
            torn & tossed away
                        (something might be there)

                        & then    once when I was three
I tried to tie my shoe    hurled it flying
                      fury against the flowered wall
                                                               paper
                      making bruises of purple-petaled flowers

not so much later
I came to know
            the shoe’s lace better
                      its loop-the-loop
                      its up-round-down
& then the lace & I
            became a bow

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