Emily Cohen knits summer

A small suburban garden with absent
birds. The clack-clack is only 
Emily’s needles clashing.

She knits for her younger sister’s bump.
Her wool is the pale yellow
of indeterminate sex.

The small cardigan’s arms flex,
ageing her as they grow. 
She concentrates on the clouds.

She’s aware of the gap
where summer should be.
This year only rain has bloomed.

Her work done, she holds it up
to the grim August day – 
such a small thing, its beginnings

untraceable now.
She packs up her things,
her hands shaking.

The garden is silent – her rage
at its silence surprising.
Such a small thing.

Runner up, Mslexia Poetry Competition 2008