Homemade Love

For Charlotte

Morning sun fills the living room,
warms my bare feet.
The bamboo needles in my hands click softly,
as celadon wool streams up,
falls away in an ocean of textures.
As I knit you this sweater
meant to last a lifetime
I am remembering your beginnings, Charlotte:
the obvious early signs your mother minimized
afraid to get her hopes up one more time;
the moment your Morse code heartbeat
reached your parents ears.
I imagine for them it was like
hearing the voice of God.
I am giving my mornings over to you these days, Charlotte,
their quiet promise laced with birdsongs,
while your mother worries about your ultimate survival
and you struggle with your first ear infection.
Here on my couch, a thousand miles east,
I am fashioning you a future.
I am knitting you days, Charlotte,
purling you decades.