It looks innocent enough,
ten colourful strings hanging from a wooden rod,
each a row of fluffy balls in red, orange, purple, blue, yellow.
It makes a pretty screen for the door.
But then the strings tangle easily,
and under my sister's confused hands,
they become a monstrosity, a tangled mess
that takes hours for me to untangle.
A tangled mess,
that is a reflection of my sister's increasingly confused mind,
the mind that is slowly being eaten up
by the tumours growing in her brain.
