Cecille Marcato

Raveling and Unraveling Are the Same Thing

Most mothers know, will tell you When you see a thread don’t pull;
will show you: First tie a tiny knot in the loose culprit close to the cloth,
obtain purchase of the fabric with one hand, snap the maverick thread with the other.
A good boy hears the mother’s voice and heeds it, leaves the filament alone.
But sometimes it catches on the outside world and comes unspun anyway.

That summer the garment was Frank, the thing that caught him was heat.
For forty days the air was 105; for forty more, 107; and another ten, 102. 
From an inch of thread came miles of it
wreathing around his feet, mummifying his body.
I saw the vestments of his life come undone,
threads that had held him together for so long walk off the job.
They unraveled not from weariness but from coding,
a breaker in the helix of the plant that grew the cloth
was thrown and raveled everything.

Three Haiku For Lovers In The Canyonlands

i
Frost in the bedroom.
Sweet, long breath from you to me
dissolves the winter.

ii
You open nature
like a pair of graceful legs.
Snow on the cactus.

iii
Who are we and where?
You have to love the questions,
our cousins the stars.

Cecille Marcato (Instagram: @cecillemarcato  Gmail: cmarcatopoetry@gmail.com) is a poet and cartoonist in Austin, Texas.  Her work has appeared in Leon Literary Review, South Florida Poetry Journal, counterclaim, and Solstice and is upcoming in Naugatuck River Review and Free State Review.  She holds degrees in literature and design and graduated from the Warren Wilson MFA Program for Writers.  As a girl, she was fond of malted milk balls, but with maturity came dark chocolate; she loves ice cream, too – especially Texas Dirt Cake.