square knot

the question becomes
with what do you hold yourself together?
the ice cream melts on my way to you
& each stop feels like a rosary bead.
smooth. forefinger & thumb.
i am concerned about the eggs
in the chicken coop & whether or not
this year will have any ribs left.
when i was a girl scout 
we once took turns practicing knots we had
no use for. i held out my finger
as a loom. let the other girls practice
on my skin. this is what it means 
to live in this country. like racing an onion.
test subject. teleprompter. 
they take bids on how & for what they
kill us. for democracy or for profit 
or for unity or for freedom.
i pick at knots in my thread.
sometimes when we bead, the seeds
blink like eyes. when i get back
to the air bnb i am glad i did not
eat my ice cream without you.
the rooms are small. plastic red spoon.
you open packets of ketchup. 
i hear blood. on our way here, 
we passed a sunken house
glazed with dusk light in the middle
of the old woods. you said,
"i wouldn't mind living 
in a place like that if we 
could be safe." we drive there,
ice cream still melting, burrow inside.
tell each other our favorite unhistory.
"there is no such thing as the united states." 
grow our hair out. braid it.
finally, then, make use of that knot,
by tying our heads together. 
the ice cream goes fast. i lick the cup.