Hand Knitting

The sadder my mother became
(what she called blue phases)
the more sweaters we got.
As she worked through her depression
with a knit one, purl one, rock-rock beat
they began to pile up.

Though she is now decades gone
and they were knit
to fit a teen
I’ve kept one,
to remind myself
how accomplished she’d become.

Which has nothing to do
with sweaters and yarn.
But how many lives she saved
with simple things:
just two strong hands,
and sticks and string.

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