If I had clamped my jaw shut I would have been able to
swallow the future before it happened
Instead I got lost knitting Christmas sweaters for murderers
Knitting stitches so small it makes my eyes hurt
And this one's red for the blood that fell
And this one has a star.
Not that I know whom they killed to get on Death Row
Only that they have arms and torsos, and I, a lot of free
time
To perform Thankless Gifts
Like watering trees in other people's yards
Scraping the gum off sidewalks
It's a better kind of prayer than the kind that asks for
things
I carry doggy bags to pick up poop
Which is sometimes soft and wet like intestines
Which you might have pulled out of that girl
Or did you drown her?
I would have been so happy to stay with you
But you left and murdered the next girl
I saw her face in the church directory
She had curly, bobbed hair like a poodle
And you're in the penitentiary the penance century the
ten-pence mensch-ary
---are the word games I would have played with you
If you hadn't snuffed her out--don't you know we're all
free?
To spit gum on sidewalks or scrape it off or pull someone
closer or push them off or take a picture or smash a camera or eat spinach or sugar or breathe air or ashes or dust.
'May she rest in peace' is the kind of prayer that asks for
things
But my prayer is a tight jaw while knitting
Was she waterlogged when they found her?
Or disemboweled?
I think I will include a note with my sweaters:
'If you let the inmate wear it on his last day
The wool will absorb his jittery sweat
Making cleanup easy.
But, if it's his last day,
Don't let him wear the one with a snowman.
Its coal grin might seem mocking,
disrespectful,
crude.'
crude.'
