Wandering the winter roads,
I found a few soft balls of wool—
left behind by someone
in the bitter cold of last year.

I brought them home
and tucked them into
the torn blanket
that mother wrapped herself in—
hoping maybe,
just maybe,
the holes would fill on their own.

That I wouldn't have to hear
her bones shiver through the night,
or watch her lips
tighten against the cold
like...

Read and leave comments (0)