I remember

learning knots

in the hall

behind the church

where

I went to scouts-

where I first

found out

that people thought

I wasn’t cool or

fun or even smart.

Even though that

hurt my feelings

I wanted to learn the knots,

even annoying people

can use ropes.

Sometimes wish

someone

else had

shown me them,

and

maybe I wouldn’t

dream of knots

so often

in the tree

I picked out

years ago-

cherry blossoms

in April, somewhere

nice to sit.

Imagine petals caught

in a breeze and dancing

not wet laces dangling

under a bare branch

in dark December

dirty marks on my

shoes because

I tried to change

my mind, but

I still remember

and

my knots are good.

So instead

when synapses fire

and expose

my faulty wires

that plead with me

to tie that knot,

I imagine cherry

blossoms in the

wind and clear

blue sky

behind them.

The sun will

come out again

so

I’ll sooner sit

and swear to

count the knots

on every tree

alive,

before I tie one.