Knitting Lessons

My fingers are imprisoned 

within woolen loops.

Her claws glide 

over each knot;

like the Other Mother

the craft melts in her 

grasp. 

Yet, unlike Coraline, 

I am alone, and there’s no 

seeing stone to help

escape this torture, 

only twenty 

more 

minutes.

Like Arachne, she zips 

through rows of stitches. 

weaving an endless

web of cashmere

misery.  

Clinking brass needles 

vibrate against my palms, 

parodying the fluid 

movements 

of my 

captor.

Yet, compared to Ms. Spider, 

I am a backlot 

dollar store 

knitter. 

White noise hisses 

in my ears as her mandibles 

move to instruct 

again. 

My needles clatter

against the hardwood 

floor.

Her beady eyes stare

down, at the stringy 

mishmash

in my 

lap.

Wringing the fabric, 

I watch her lips twitch 

into a wiry 

grin.

“Oh, come now, this is a simple pattern.”

She raises woolen lattice

to my face. 

Her venomous

words stick 

to my brain 

and knits knobs

of nausea.

 Like a fly, I can’t flee the trap.