Sonnet 43

4/8/11

The other day, I thought while tromping back

Upon my ever single, fixed state;

About my plight, left always to attract

And never be attracted—what a fate.

I counted on my fingers, then my toes,

The men who’ve loved me, men I never could

Reciprocate, could not requite, or grow

The feeling: love—although I felt I should.

And there before me, looming in my eyes,

I saw the future life I’d have to live.

Resigned myself to spinsters’ knitting sighs

And isolated rocking—to forgive

The men who failed me, the passion to remit.

I guess that means I’ll need to learn to knit.