My great-grandmother’s yarn
came to me neatly wound.
Beautiful resources,
kept with care.

The tangles came later.
The moves.
The boxes.
The life I packed around them.

I learned to loosen
what pulling only tightened.

Some thread had waited
seventy-five years
to become what I would make.

I knitted.
I crocheted.
Attached her labels
to heirlooms
for people I loved.

Her care
carried through my hands
into theirs.

I think of this
when life becomes tangled.

The beauty in the materials.
The patience in the making.
The choice of what
we carry forward.

Creating joy
is an artisan’s craft.

Sometimes it begins
with setting the work
in our lap,

loosening our grip,

seeing what is here
with enough care
to make something magnificent.