The rope was knotted when I found it. White and worn, tense from the front to back with knots stretching as long as 5 feet and 11 inches. I irked to untangle these knots, biting my nails loosened the ability to free the rope. One unraveled, several produced. Should have paid attention to the other hands tying the knots. I invite others to help, get to know their entanglements. One’s a pretzel knot, my father swallows it. A butterfly knot, grandfather slits the wings. Clove hitch for strong bonds. Figure eight, the end of lost ships and fiend of bad habits. Even the ball knots get tied to prevent smaller knots or just for the hell of it. A noose leaves the string hollow and dead. If I'm lucky, I will find a lady knot. We don't tell our entanglements. Cover in wealth, drown in liquor, mask through humor, binge until grease engulfs the rope, leaving it hardboiled and staggered. Dare I speak of my knots, thou shall be whipped. All men are kept, strangled in their ties, we claw forever. Trapped in the knots that catch in gears of pedestrian sludge. Worse knots are tied to hefty ideas, thick norms. Through sea, storm, and muck is the rope expected to resist. No need of bond. I am tangled in this nature.