Sunday, July 8, 2012


We spurn eternity
we have nothing
from the other side
except near death

Life is a string of months
year after year after year
it balls up into knots 
we struggle to untie

We become housewives
fall into subtracting 
fact from fiction as we
search drawers 
sting of humiliation


  1. Has to be the WNY influence that draws me to your work. Had to highlight it to read it, but the hunt made it worth my while. Life IS poetry, if we only have the gumption to write it a day at a time. Very nice, Willow!

  2. We know nothing about the future, only the present. So important to untie our knots and live here and now. Well written.

  3. Excellent poem, Willow. I think knots are meant to be untied, so frustrating until you finally unravel the last piece, then sometimes elation, sometimes disappointment. Very nice write.