Winter Ropes
they called them
one end anchored to the house
the other to barn or outbuilding
guiding the would-be lost home again
in a short while
I won't find my way along her details
threads of thought the long rope
knotted tightly to her waist
prairie white-outs and age
leave us old farmers amidst
this hungry howling force
slicing visibility to zero
when the wind steals sound
and whips the world blank
hand over hand we hemp themselves
back to the recognized kitchen
I bind Nanna tight at the waist
her thoughts muddled landmarks
tethering our years
together
is it enough to follow along
hold her knotted fear and panic
untie wide eyes with promises
dopplered in dementia’s squall
at night, she worries the sheets to rope
mtaking the bed for phantom saviors
who will come, she insists
to spend the night and steady her
I grip the strings that fasten—
one end clenched in sweaty palms
the other frayed and silenced
in an unrelenting wind
Author: Ann Fisher
Photo: Aditya Vyas on Unsplash
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