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The Knitting Club
by Kathy Wehrenberg
All I see out the window
is another skyscraper.
On this floor, the ninety-fourth,
I stay near my desk,
but smoke blackens the office space
like a widow's wreath.
Remaining calm as a glacial lake in August,
finding long tables set up for me and the others,
I sit down on a folding chair
and greet my neighbors on either side.
They both have big hairdos
like used Christmas paper just unwrapped.
We all take out our knitting needles.
Either neighbor can help me with my work.
They both lean towards me and demonstrate,
their knitting needles clicking.
A light chatter enfolds us.
We are creating Afghans,
gray and beige lap blankets.
I settle in for a long morning of knitting.
We are strangely safe and unconcerned
like a cocoon in winter.
While we are here nothing else matters.
Copyright
Kathy Wehrenberg. All rights reserved worldwide.
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