She must have liked to knit,
The woman wearing a patchwork of scarves and knit up clothes.
Or maybe they were heirlooms passed down from mother to daughter.
She's here with her brother.
Same hair, same face, same clothes, same forlorn expression.
Something must have happened.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryJust poems I write for no apparent reason. Some will probably be dumb, some might not me.