With the Son Gone
by Tom Harmon

You knit.
Hours ride the yarn
to the click-clack of needles
filling the evening.

I watch
as strands of color
become one, a brilliant scarf
falling at your feet

And muse --
nesting still suits you,
promising to mail the gift
first thing tomorrow.

Copyright 2021 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.