In the absence of real knitting content ...

So the lace is gone. Well, it’s cast on again as one row. With a lot of markers. We’ll see if that works. This pattern is not that difficult – why do I keep screwing it up? I haven’t even gotten to the point where I’d normally put in a lifeline – there haven’t been enough correct rows.

Also, I hit a deer yesterday, so there was not a lot of time for things other than trips to the body shop, dealing with the insurance, etc.

And since it seemed to be the first question and primary concern of the 911 operator, the guy at the construction site where I pulled off, the deputy and others, I will tell you now:
No, the deer did not survive.

But I’m fine, thanks for asking.

In the absence of knitting, we turn once again to poetry. Week two of National Poetry Month. This one was written to describe a time just before I filed for divorce – which at this point, is more that 10 years ago, but hey, you get the idea.

Ten Years Ago, Out My Window

When no one is looking
I go to the window
smearing the smudges
trying to see the snow.

There is one small spot clear still
bright as new wine
a tiny clean place
protected from the filth of time.

My hand can conceal it
keep it shielded and safe,
I can look when I can
a child’s peek-a-boo game.

But my hand left a blot –
the corner I saved for myself
is gone.

My tears, clichéd, pass
over my cheeks like diamonds
and I remember what I knew
somewhere, long ago –
diamonds cut glass.

Reach out with my left fist
diamond flinging
refracted light
fingers clenching

I scratch the pane deep and hard
digging a keyhole.
If I press it with my tongue,
I can taste the balsam cold.

Someday, the hole will grow
larger still and I will be very quiet and small
and I will go through the hole like Alice
and walk in the snow.