Knitting Poem of the Week 3

Yvonne Green
Her Knitting

A thought forms in my right fist
until my thumb and little finger
stretch to make the beat of a line.
But then I see my mother's hand
as she put down her knitting,
half-closed her left eye
and walked her thumb and little finger
across my girl's chest.
She never used a pattern or explained
and suddenly there was a garment.