Sock Quilt

by Karen Craigo

Sock Quilt

These you left:
mateless tube socks,
argyles the colors
of wild birds.
I thread them by hand,
ankle to toe, my stitches
are volumes leaning
between ends.

There is no order
to this piecing:
your castoffs, mine,
good enough
for this one thing.
A man who doesn¹t
question origins
plays music in my room.
This also seems enough,
fingers touching wound metal,
the tentative voice.

In Missoula I met a man
in a bookstore and we talked
about owls. Later
he sent a poem
about a woman, white pages,
the slap of wings
through night air. We are all trying
to make something
out of nothing.

Karen Craigo is a newspaper reporter and freelance writer who lives and works in the small town of Kenton, Ohio. Her work has been accepted by the Crab Orchard Review, the Cincinnati Poetry Review and Defined Providence (all print journals), and Gravity and Park and Read (online publications).

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