Tangled strands
In grey matter
I thought it was you,
Them

Deeply embedded
Eternal threading through
No matter how many cuts
I made

“This is just part of me, I guess”
I said at last
Half-believing, hands shining
Patient and surgeon

But it wasn’t you. Or them. Not really.

Tangled strands
Memories made patterns
Which imprinted in grey matter,
Stuck

But these strands
Handled with care
Unravel and turn to wisps
Which, floating,
Take their leave,
Leaving untangled remembrance.
Free.