Sara Smollett

October 2, 1997

three and three and three. three's a strange way to be.

there were three. three friends. or maybe three people clinging desperately together. those are friends. three people whose lives were somehow intricately connected. interlocking threads. ties that can easily be severed.

a spider walks across the room which is actually a field. meadow of Arachne. garden of knowledge. spider. spiider. spiiiider. they shout and laugh. but what is hero? and what is web? oh what a tangled web we weave inside our heads.

it rains and a butterfly flies overhead. stops and perches on a flower. tulip. sucks out its nectar. its sweet life. then falls and is trapped in a web. netted like a dolphin mistaken for a tuna. why do we capture beauty? creatures that know. flutter. flutter. flutter. stops and admits defeat. nothing we can do to help.

there were three of us. three sisters. missing a fourth but complete all the same. circles and circles and circles. why were we there? work-study in purgatory they told us but that didn't make any sense. maybe we were playing cat's cradle. wrong again. and we didn't know what halfway meant.

so? sewing. patchwork quilt complete and clashing. rich you said. we argue over who can cut the cloth. wresling and leaves of fire crunch underfoot. I finally get the scissors and am unable to make motion. none of us can cut the threads. we sit placidly frozen in moment. persecuted by time and sisters.