By Anne O’Leary
Mother says I am a deplorable knitter. It’s of little consequence, I weave my love, stitch by stitch. First the ribbing, then the leg. They say it is muddy in the trenches and I blush to think of my fiancé’s naked feet, cold in his boots. Even as she scolds, she helps me turn the heel and then it is a simple matter to finish. The rows of plain make pleasing, if gaping v’s. V is for Victorious, I whisper to them. Inside, the stitches resemble waves, both calm and turbulent, like the sea that will surely bring him home.
Anne O’Leary lives in Cork, Ireland. Her work has appeared in Jellyfish Review, Dodging the Rain, The Nottingham Review, Halo Literary Journal, Spontaneity, The Incubator and the Sunday People newspaper.