Mind, Spinning
Mind cards the day away,
his fingers spindling thread
while he stares at warp and weft
of picket fences, window panes.
Mind watches parents slather lotion
thick across their children’s shoulders.
He stinks of lanolin, no matter
how he washes. The children shuttle
across the street, between homes and park.
They sit along the river, braiding grass
or weaving cornhusk mats for games.
Mind struggles with his fleece,
picking out the dirt and grass from wool
for winter blankets. Heavy thread
spools beneath his hands, but Mind’s fingers
itch to spin stones across the river.