At the Loom

Warp and weft; knit and purl.

Back and forth, like waves on a shore.

(They wouldn’t have called me bipolar back then)

Ones and zeroes, if you look at them differently

A binary language, not quite human

(Am I useful for anything?)

Dits and dahs. Dots and dashes.

SOS doesn’t actually mean Save Our Ship

(I’m drowning again)

We’ve been weaving threads

For as long as we’ve been spinning stories.

(I still think I’d have made a great storyteller)

The patterns on the loom shift

And the strings become numbers

(My fingers begin to ache)

Ones and zeroes. Yes and no.

A million decisions in the blink of an eye

(What do you want from me?)

The numbers become strings again, strings of data

Stitching together a neverending cloth

(I find myself stretched out as well)

We still tell stories at the loom

Just in a different way

(Who will tell mine when I’m gone)