Don't stop at three...
I wrote this for SheilaM a few years ago. Your thread reminded me of it.
The Cord of my life
Twisted strands of colored yarn
In tiny hands draped over crossed legs
Bare feet, painted toes.
Through eyes now “old” I watch
Head craned to my left
How does she do that?
Loop, pull, turn, twist, inspect
Hook in hand, smile on lips
Small lips, her lips, my lips
She turns and catches me watching
Her smile broadens
She feels like I am proud of her
I’ve always been proud of her
She amazes me
I was but a single strand
All those years ago
She took my hand and added my strand to her two
She began to weave a cord
Three became four
The plumbing worked
The cord was strong but the world hard
Years passed. Lost time
Wear, fraying, one strand severed
Two strands severed
Only two left
Then three again
Then five, well four and a half
Now five and a half
I’ve watched as she weaved two balls of yarn into instant warmth
I know for a fact she can handle five and a half
It will be six soon, the half nearly whole
The cord of my life is in her hands
I know she will do only right with it
After all she started this
What have I to worry for?
I wonder, will she catch me watching 50 years from now?