I can name names. A few more than
disciples but all were more like Judas.
The first one was John. At twelve,
I thought: I could be a nun. All my dreams
of men were faceless, blonde but faithless;
then I married him. Knitting is not my skill;
the intricate twirling of needle against needle,
the clash of steel pulling wool around wool.
And what have you made in the end?
A ridiculous sweater or a scarf
with holes that won't keep out