MAURICIO MORENO

the patience of untying knots

Hate is like a knotted mess of rotted rope
around your heart.

It gnarls and blackens the edges with
prejudice. The fibers undoing

at the seems from the weight of ire
it carries. A heart cannot grow or

beat freely with the knots around
its muscles, its constricted, limited

it can’t beat the way it was meant
to beat. And once one knot shows up,

more follows, until your love is moored
on a shore without a life preserver, and only

doubt and fear anchoring you to the beaches.
The riptides hurl flotsam at your feet,

in reckless abandon they crash against the hungry
jetty teeth, your heart unwilling to embark

beyond the pier. This is the power of one knot,
hate entombing a thing made to love. But

you can set yourself free from hate, with
the patience of untying a knot. Because

it didn’t start at once, nor can you always
quell it in a day. It takes the moonlight of

a hundred low tides, as much time to oxidize iron
into sea moss, and abandoned jetsam into

an anemone, a school of fish to undo something
that took years to form.

You must first grip the knot in your hand,
feel how tight it wraps around itself,

trace the grooves of rope that once
felt the mist of every ocean

and honor its journey, respect the many turns
its taken and been taken on, accept that not

every hook was its own fault, that people don’t
always come out of a journey unscathed, and

listen to the story in its scars. Then, when you’ve heard enough,
place a soft hand on it, ask it to open. Find the crevice

where it’s more vulnerable, most willing to return
to its sturdy splendor, and start there. Begin to dig

with your nails. It will resist you, and try to show you
the strength of its conviction. It may try to rip you,

cut you deep, burn your hand,
keep going, though it may try to attack you and call you names,
keep digging, though it may use half truths and blatant lies to confuse you,
keep digging, though it may spin itself around you and try to make a noose around your neck,
keep digging, though it will use slippery slopes and red herrings to trip you up and lead you
away from unraveling,
keep digging , though it will beg the question, throw strawmen at you, or appeal
to an authority greater than you,
keep digging
keep scratching,
keep listening,
keep digging,

until you hear that faint sound of a child whispering
“It hurts, help me.” And with the patience of the ocean,

dig and scratch until you feel the knot begin to give slack,
to open itself like an oyster, and lets you inside the first

opening, and lets you unravel even a Constrictor knot,
lets you know that even the tightest of knots, the deepest

hatred, can still be undone.

Mauricio Moreno is an award-winning, first generation Colombian-
American artist and writer, originally from New Jersey.

He moved to California to fulfill his life mission of being a writer and sharing
his and others’ stories to bring readers closer together and heal the world.

His first full-length poetry book, Anatomy of a Flame, was published with
Los Angeles Poet Society Press in 2023 and received an Honorable
Mention for Best Poetry Book by the International Latino Book Award in
2024.

His poetry focuses on immigration, mental health, masculinity, and
honoring culture and tradition in a post-modern capitalist society.

His works have been published in Conchas Y Café, Intercultural Press,
Resurrection Press, No Tender Fences, Rigorous and has featured at
several open mics throughout Los Angeles.

When he’s not writing, he can be found in Long Beach tending to his
growing collection of pets with his revolutionary wife.