Snag

Once on a boring summer afternoon,
tired of our whining, she took
from her wooden jewelry box
two snarled balls of necklace chains

and showed us how to roll the mess
between finger and thumb
until it relaxed a little,
how to slip a sewing needle
into the stubborn knots.

We were there for hours:
minds blank, house gone soft with the quiet,

coaxing slow space into the gnarled tightness
until the sun grew weak through the diamond windows.

And oh, I want

one more afternoon like that.
Want forgiveness

that feels like that—
a hard-earned loosening that ends

in open palms holding sleek ropes of gold:

neat, shimmering,

attached to nothing.

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Christy Lee Barnes is an educator originally from Los Angeles, who now lives in Seattle with my husband and toddler son. Her writing can be found in Prairie Schooner, Plume, Cream City Review, Cagibi, Spillway, Tin House's "Broadside Thirty," The Seattle Times, McSweeney's, and elsewhere.