The everyday violence of creation
is contained like
the message in a bottle,
within these knitting needles.
Stab, strangle, 
spin the yarn into something new. 

She learned to knit beside me
casting new loops
turning new tales
making new promises to break.
Swearing like a sailor 
with tears she did not cause
interwoven into our work. 

It was with that casual violence
that I was cast off.
Casually, like I wasn’t a project, but a chore.
Not something she chose to make
just something assigned
that you abandon after the due date.