They are close
this husband and wife
tightly knit
but comfortable
like old pair of mittens
He holds her grey wool
coarse and scratchy
in a skein looped around and
around the back of his two hands
She gently pulls the strand
like an umbilical cord
this lifeline from her partner
wrapping his warmth
around and around
her fetus ball
There is no need to speak
their breath, a faint whisper,
against the crackle of flames
Their fieldstone hearth
more than a foundation
Tomorrow she will
click and clack
knit click, purl clack
yarn over, knit for three
and he will smell
the scent of lavender
watch how her rosy cheeks
might shimmer glow
her sweater stretched
as her stomach grows
Debbie Okun Hill, Ropedancer: The Ontario Poetry Society 2012
Member Anthology (Beret Days Press, 2012)
No comments:
Post a Comment