Rough Gloves

published in Sequoya Review

I lost my hands & knit replacement ones 
from spiders' threads, stronger than steel but soft
as lambs' wool. Catching as they do on nails
and your collarbone, you don't seem to like
their rough warm presence on your cheek or thigh.
I've asked you if you minded, you've said no
(your face a table laid with burnt meat, bread
so stale it could break a hand). Remember
your senile mother's face above that table?
I'd say she got the meaning of that look.
You'd rather not be touched by these rough gloves,
the only way I have to knit a love
against whatever winters we may enter
like a silkworm in a spider's blackened maw.