Frank had watched Minerva knit,
sitting in her blue flowered BarcaLounger for years.
He had worn her lopsided sweater vests, nubbly socks, and headache hats; afraid to say anything for fear of hurting her feelings.
He had listened to the click click of the needles
while he did his crypto quotes and crosswords,
and never complained.
And now he painstakingly grasped the needles
and peered at the instructions.
Determined to knit, knit her a blanket to cover her
as she rested in her casket.
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