Bowline

My grandather

tried to teach me

how to tie

a bowline.

It’s a knot.

I couldn’t do it.

My father taught me

to tie my shoes

on the very first try.

Bragged about it.

Told my Mom.

“On the very first try.”

Couldn’t get over it.

But Gramps gave up.

Stood there with his Pall Mall

cigarette in that carved ivory

holder and shook his head.

“Let go in and see what Grandma

has for lunch,” he said.

A few days ago,

sitting at my desk

I got it. Put a piece of string

through the handle

on the drawer and with

two quick turns made my

first bowline. Father

and Grandfather

are gone now,

Grandmas too on both sides,

but I got my bowline.

They got it too.

Ties bind forever.

ƒ