Why do they say knitting needles go 'click'? It's more of a 'squeak', 'shuffle', 'tap', 'shuffle'. Is it the same way that rain doesn't 'splash'? It goes 'drop', 'plop', 'thud'. These are the thoughts that rise to the top as I sit And knit.
Thoughts aren't threads to be woven They are patches to be stitched together- each one a new colour. Grey is when my brain won't stop- the colour of school uniform. White is when I'm scared and alone- an ethereal mist. These are the thoughts that rise to the top as I sit And knit.
Recently there's been a lot of green- warm and swirling like a gemstone. It is like marble in its pattern, layers of shades overlapping. That's what your patches are. And here I'm Trying to not think of you but you rise to the top as I sit And knit.
I notice a burnt orange- like lava bubbling over a cool skin. That is quiet anger. Not at you. Not at me for thinking of you. At the one who thought I could stop. It is impossible, especially when I don't want to stop as I sit And knit.
Even as I tried to write a poem withought you. I couldn't. You're here again- and these are just the ones I wrote down. All these thoughts of you rise to the top as i sit And knit.
Someone thought I would be fixed if I didn't think of you. But that's not happening. I can't and won't stop. Love is so powerful it gives even the weakest of us courage. Even if its only enough to protest in silence