Tortuosity

The term for the wiggliness or kinkiness of the paths your veins
is tortuosity.
The ropy twists and turns.
The blood-filled zigs and zags.
The corners.
The crumples and snarls.
Like post-cat yarn.
Like silly string captured in meat
Those people with veins that have smooth curves
Like a main highway
Or a capital S
Have a better chance of not having a stroke
Because hairpin turns can be a collector for impurities
Just as in a river
Where silt can build up and form a chokepoint
Stopping a tree branch that pauses
Stuck
Until dambreaking through with force and causing damage
But that word
Tortuosity
I think of the tortuosity of a life
A life with thousands of twists and turns and unexpected events
Versus a smooth arc of a life
A predictable parabola of existence from womb to grave
Happily taking on your parents’ profession, for instance
Chain-linking a generation into the future
Without much deviation
Sounds nice
Sounds pleasant
But a life with so many branches and whorls
A tortured life in that meaning of the word
A whirlwinded staircase bent origami
Intersections of dozens of pathways
A child’s red scrawl on a map
The chaotic path of lightning
Or questing ivy
A rippling wave contour of a mountain range
That sounds like an interesting life
Shorter as the crow flies because of the tangles
But longer than most straight lines of travel
And more able to visit hidden places
This dice roll
This frequent seeking
It’s not conscious
It’s just who some of us are
People with tortuous timelines
A life of backs and forths
Ups and downs
Far rights and hard lefts
I envy the smooth
But I’m glad to be tortuous


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