Walking My Way Through Divorce
Walking My Way Through Divorce
by Katherine January | Bountiful, UT
even now I find bits of his nylon cord
carefully bundled all over the house
white, black, red, green
coiled and tucked in drawers and cupboards
as if knots could make a difference
like they did that time in Wakeeney, Kansas
when the tent held fast in a storm
all those knots—tied, untied, never tied
could only do so much—he lost interest in knots
and I didn’t know a slip knot from a sheep shank
but one day, without ever having been an Eagle Scout
I tucked a bundle of that cord into my Camino-bound pack
where the motion of daily walking on a pilgrim path
made more sense than anything
and when clouds were heavy
boots were heavy
hope for sleep was scarce
the bright red of that sturdy line whispered, improvise
hang your sodden clothes
above rows of narrow cots, mend a broken lace
on a boot, tie a tarp to a tree
when you are late and the hostels are full
right knot or wrong knot, cord in a cupboard
means memories, but cord in a boot means motion
town to town
vineyard to vineyard
sun to moon to milky way
walking set us free—all of us who trekked west
for reasons known, unknown, and still emerging
the mud and mire of a late day storm
might sap our fragile resolve
but in the peach and purple dawn
we laced up boots and walked again
the motion reminding us to live
not outside this day
but in it, not in fear of the storm
but in it
all the way to the end
and then, one day more
Editor’s note: This poem is from the collection Dreams of Passing Fire: Companion Poems from the Camino (Shanti Arts Publishing, 2024). Find a La Concha review of that collection here. January’s poem “A Dream of Passing Fire,” which is also part of that collection, appears in the Spring 2025 La Concha.
