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She sits with her long needles
watching the Yankees on TV
while he dozes, thin as shadows,
his mind crumbling into
shifting recollections.She knits him a sweater
he'll never wear,
too big for his hunched
shoulders, his bony arms.She knits up their lives
in bright orange wool,
picks up dropped stitches
with a crochet hook,
watches him unravel
from the corner of her eye.

      — Kate Murphy