A poem.


If life were a line
played out like a cord
that we could recall,
rewind, unsnarl,

pull in, like fishermen,
the long, tangled
string of regrets,
free our line

where it snagged another,
smooth, set straight,
and then reel in
a shinier catch,

what would we miss
in those loops and twists,
spontaneous jumbles,
kinks and crimps,

what briny amazements
would we unravel.

Pam Lewis

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