Every stitch was organized yet convoluted
The twists of yarn looked so familial
Yet lonely
Outside the cold air was settling in
To whisper to the leaves
And tell them to change color
They comply while she knits inside
Palms watering her knit creation with sweat
forcing the bonds of the yarn to grow
To grow thick and scratchy
A beige colored grotesqueness
around one’s neck
Around the neck
Around the sinner’s neck
Leaves fall on the cement unknowingly,
Red hues splattering the gray
without sympathy