the child was tiny all things
were warm
including the river
then winter came the river became ice
the ice was imperfect and left a hole
there’s nothing to do the child’s
doctor said, the hole’s in her heart
it will murmur at the night
soon ice covered
all her world
another mother
not her own
gave her a sweater
of uncountable threads
each day the sweater
must be knit anew
each night Penelope, unraveling,
shows her how.