Brother Moirae

I watch them coming and going,
coming and going,
treading their line
and following their thread.

They do not see me.

I pluck as I mingle,
intertwining and unraveling,
making music out of nothing
and a mess of everything.

Or so my sisters say.

They tell me to sit quiet as they work,
the one spinning,
the one drawing,
the one cutting.
I sneak away and I run
while their backs are turned.
I will find the people,
I will find my fun.

Or so I had.

One night
with their one eye fixed on me
and their one tooth behind three grins,
they held my thread to the shears
as a threat.
I should be quiet,
they said,
and stay put
or snip snip.

But I'm faster than those hags,
my old spinster sisters,
and I took that thread and
wound it around another.
Loop loop loop
and the bunny went through the hole.
A tug and a pull
and we are tied together,
you and I,
your thread in mine.
And now they can't cut it too soon,
for it's your life to cut too.

I hope you don't mind,
but it will be fun,
being intertwined,
I promise.
And I won't play with it too much.
Just
a little
pluck.
Did you feel that?
I did.