100 threads wrapped around my hand, cotton, silk, rayon, polyester blend, all white, or once they were, now some of them are dingy, grey, spotted with the dirt of tears, frustration, anger.  The wind picked up, the threads are pulling tight, cutting off my circulation, cutting into me, pulling away.  Looking up to see what mass these threads attach me to, I only see darkness, a turmoil of clouds against night sky.  They’re embedded in my skin, slicing into me as this force of nature tries to tear them away, so I hang on.  There’s an obvious solution, but it escapes me, maybe it’s just that I can’t imagine letting go.


My hand is heavy, but the pain is ebbing as a tide of numbnesses washes slowly forward, as the storm breaks through the heaviness of the clouds and floods me with emotion.  The threads, twisted by the vortex above me, become a rope and I’m holding on, just above the sink holes at my feet.


Her figure appears within a burst of lightening, erupting like Aphrodite from this salty sea. Aphrodite with a knife in her hand, glistening and sharp.   My eyes close, my fist closes, my body closes upon itself, dangling by these threads.  The sound of the blade slicing through the air, in the same instant waiting to feel the plunge into my chest and realizing that the threads are what were severed.  I fall forward into her waiting body, eyes toward the heavens, watching the threads spin away from each other, and disappear.  She catches me within her soul, soothes me with the tincture and black magic of her tears and I am home again.


The storms we create flood us, but oh, how I love her…


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