Tie me into a bow,
a double-knot so I cannot let go.
Attach me to the shoe you wear,
the present you give,
and the elegant accent on your baby’s head.
Sterling silver, yarn, and fabric;
a multitude of avenues.
No bow is ever the same.
A three-year-old tied me
and I was lost at the park.
A thirteen-year-old tied me,
so tight that I couldn’t breathe,
but we won the race.
A middle-aged woman soaked me with her tears
as she came to the conclusion,
“Maybe if I lost a couple of pounds he will love me again.”
An eighty-year old left me undone.
She asked her three-year old grandson to finish what she could not.
The journey started all over again
in a family of knots.