I wrap a blanket around myself:
warm lambswool, the colour of clotted cream,
crocheted by my mother’s loving hands just for me.
And I want to wrap you warm around too, my child;
to enfold you with warming words
linked together by colons and commas,
spaced just so with ellipses for gaps…
To wield a stylus like a crochet hook.
And row upon row to knit just like this:
Line upon line
Using ink for thread,
Pen for needle and
Love for stitch.
A cream hued page to wrap around your heart
when my arms are no longer within reach.