On Knitting

Sitting in this dim room,
lit with the flickering television,
I am knitting this little cap.
pushing and pulling the needles,
weaving and half braiding
the yarn and time and my love
for the new child
of my own.

The strings pulled taut
cross over and over each other
like my memory of
the smaller and the younger and the before
and each one crosses over the next,
then through the holes that we made in each other;
and we move through them too
because sometimes holes don't mean broken,
but really mean there is just another way for the light to get in.