Crochet

I have loved you in ordinary ways.
Enveloped in dreams of warm kitchen comfort,
Of being the voice that awaits your footfall
Of long lazy Sundays for
You are perfect in every way.
My comfort in the manner of afghans:
Worsted, bulky, double-stitch love.
You have loved me in extraordinary ways.
Despite circumstance, despite reason.
Waiting so long I am afraid
That you have begun to unravel.
Not stitch by stitch,
But ripped apart rows at a time.
Like some long unnoticed mistitch destroyed
In the cruel sweeping arc of my arm.
It's me who's flawed though.
Yet you lie in tangled skeins at my feet.
Can you believe when I promise
Standing with hook in hand
To someday make you whole?