THE REEF KNOT

by MARIANNE BORUCH

From the Greeks. Honor the first
watery ways artists heralded, carving it in wood

or stone, simple function into myth warehoused now
in massive museums. For couples who

say yes, this knot mimes love itself
or invents it anew. Once doctors tying cloth,

convincing the wound to heal, a wee part of
how things work. The reef knot that sailed

great ships around a storm’s terrifying blind eye
turns out to be the Hercules knot, a square knot–

common ground. The more you stare
how intricate and to the point its endlessness is.

Down from almond extract and oat bran into
Aldi’s seasonal aisle, a string’s two ends

meet themselves, the knot’s genius linking t-shirt
to black cotton shorts, it being summer,

garden gloves, a small blow-up pool. This knot made
by a child in some factory who would

love such a pool. So far over the sea
more the idea of him under history’s

thousand pounds—conquest, exhaustion,
rebellion, world sorrow, triumph, resilience.

And gladness. A woman near keeps track
of her knots too: 10 a.m. 240 down, 1200 to go!

Must be insanely hot, one fan
at the oldest window, a lousy breeze.

I’m trying to understand something here.

At dusk, her long walk home where
the cherished life always. Maybe. Or not.

As if I know. As if how dare I know, let alone say.
This very knot—look, it pretends

the planet revealing itself a thing simple
and deathless, under and over,

pull tight, that’s it. She who works is a pro,
impeccable small beauties to be made

in bad light, good light
by heart. by heart. by heart.

author pic here

Marianne Boruch is