Knitted Together

While waiting in line, the woman behind me knitted my hair into a baby blanket for a child on the bus that never came. 

The woman knitted my arms and legs into a sweater for the morning lost to waiting in line. She knitted my eyelashes into a pocket full of lost bus tokens.

We are all lost, she whispered. 

Some of us wait in line all our lives 

to figure it out.

published in Iceberg's Poetry