What Keeps Me Warm
Sometimes I wish I knew how to knit.
I imagine myself ambling into my knitting club,
or pulling out my knitting in the midst of a long meeting,
or perhaps knitting fireside, devoted cat nearby,
granny glasses on my nose.
I see a sphere of soft yarn at my feet,
hear the competent click of my needles.
But more I wish I knew how to knit
so I would know the terminology.
Know the knit ones and purl twos.
The casting on. The weaving in. The binding off.
Then I might know,
with precision and confidence,
how a single strand
becomes pattern and beauty and strength.
If I knew how to knit,
I could comfortably use knitting words
to speak of life
and of friendship
and of family
and of love.
I’ll just wear my sweaters,
my wonderfully warm and magnificent sweaters,
and be thankful
for every stitch.