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By Katherine Parker Richmond

By Katherine Parker Richmond
Here is a hole
a small space
as though I dropped a stitch
or two
in my neat row
of knit, purl, knit, purl
no one would ever know
unless I pointed it out.

Here is a hole
a narrow gap
as though I broke a teacup
or two
in my neat row
of plate, bowl, teacup, saucer
no one would ever know
unless I pointed it out.

Here is a hole
an empty place
as though I lost a child
or two
in my neat row
of boy, girl—
and that is all.

No one would ever know
unless I pointed it out.

About Katherine Parker Richmond

Katherine Parker Richmond aspires to be the poet laureate of cheapskate moms. She lives in a big red ramshackle house in Ellensburg, Washington, with her husband, two sons, one daughter, and a pair of long-suffering cats. She homeschools, reads, writes, quilts, cans, takes long walks, and bakes her own bread—but not necessarily in that order.

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