Your hands look smaller
every time I see you
Knitting needles sprout
like fingers that somehow
escaped the fire
When I visit
you are always sitting
underneath the faded Monet poster
I ask you if the blanket you are knitting
is for my baby cousin
You glance at the water lilies
above your head
and reply that
life has more holes
than you can ever patch up
Sarah Borsten graduated from the 2014-2015 Poetry Certificate program at the IPRC. Her poetry has appeared in Jerkpoet, VoiceCatcher, Roanoke Review, and SUSAN / The Journal. She leads a double life working for a local HR consultancy, finding grays between the black and white lines.
