I trimmed the carpet in my doorway.
That’s not a metaphor.
I was laying on the floor staring at the ceiling
and in my peripheral caught sight of a loose thread,
a rogue fiber reaching a tad higher than the rest.

It was just like that one tree on 290 East
that pokes above the even line of white pine bordering the sky,
I stare it down every time as I cruise through
and wonder why she did it,
this single pine a dozen feet up
and apart from every conifer beside them,
through the golden glaze of autumn
into the bristly rough of winter;
the skyline may grow dim but that single tree stands taller, stronger
better for the weather for the better part of the last decade
I’ve been driving these roads
using her like an East facing compass,
my north star bearing in any inclement overcast
I can find my way home knowing that tree is an arrow in the sky
pointing towards—

But, there it was, three millimeters thick two centimeters tall
sprung up from the forest of dull hunter polyester rug
maybe, had been hooked on a shoe or a laundry basket
yanked from the woven roots and left clinging
to what scrape of floor it could just barley still reach
the little imperfection a mocking a distraction, a hold on damage
so I grabbed sewing sheers and snipped it plumb with the ground
and resumed my position laying back flat, face up.

This grounding technique has always helped me sort thoughts
even now years later, new carpets over new hard wood floors
a new home new people around new outlook on everything but
much like that tree out of place in the sky lineup,
laying flat to the earth as close to the dirt as I can get
without going outside into the rain for a more dramatic moment
I find my own place where I need it
rest, a calm
a brief pause from the constant concerns above
the ground and below the infinite tree lined horizon
maybe I just belong suspended there in a state that isn’t among
society, maybe I just do better closer to the edge
whatever edge you pick is probably the metaphor you were looking for
in the carpet trimming, what I’m saying is simply
I’m always either agaze into the vista
impressed with the universe’s chaos
the way a single plant giant can tear from the earth
the energy to stretch beyond all those it is
among and persist the harshness of New England,
or I am flat out on the carpet
trying not to be distracted by minor disruptions
that can so easily be cut out