ello, jello

We were coiling ropes up when I had the thought that they were angry. Hard kinks and twisted bodies. Writhing on the deck… like a snake. Maybe the snakes I dream of are actually ropes. Ropes around my ankles. Those were frigid and damp and salty. My fingers were numb after un-kinking their forms.

I re-learned how to tie a bowlin knot. They asked us to demonstrate our proficiency above our heads. We tied lassos of lines that hung near our necks. It was too much. One touched my neck. Or did it graze the inside of my throat? No, those must have been the snakes. I can’t remember anymore. I’m too cold and those memories died in the desert.