The woman crocheted a red scarf, so vibrant, and her garden zinnias didn’t bloom with the season. When she finished, she gave it to her husband, whispering, “On the coldest days you will be wrapped in the most loving embrace.”
Apparently he believed her when, one day, he never came home. Now that she’s alone, I hear she crochets black socks to tiptoe past her long nights, unheard, on her way to solace.
But lately the nights have been clear—the stars are plentiful, waiting. And the moon, once full, has been thinning for days.
Copyright © “Gift” by Dain Fedora
Dain Fedora is a graduate of Vermont College of Fine Arts where he earned an MFA in Poetry. He lives in Pasadena and works in Los Angeles.