The yarn unwound until they were past the horizon, swallowed up by stars and darkness, the rowboat’s oars stirring infinity. ‘We’ve run out,’ said Eli, and when Carter checked he too confirmed that the yarn had unravelled as far as it would. ‘So, we have a choice. Reel ourselves in, return to shore or go on without the yarn.’ Eli nodded slowly, carefully, thumb and forefinger pinched. ‘On,’ he agreed, and let go.
She makes babies clothes for the sleeping children. Started with her own, but just kept going… That’s why she walks the fence line. Knuckle bones pressed white against paper skin. Twisting wool loose. Gathering the lost.