The Knitting Circle Conspiracy

Click. Click. Click.

The sound of wooden needles

counting stitches like casualties

in a quiet war.

Wool unravels between fingers

that once signed petitions

in grocery store parking lots,

now weaving rebellion

into baby blankets and scarves.

Every purl is a protest,

every knit a knot

in the rope ladder

they’re building together.

The tea grows cold.

The gossip dries up.

Only the yarn speaks now,

spelling out secrets

in Morse code:

One row for the sister

who left her wedding ring

in a diner’s ashtray.

Two rows for the daughter

who enrolled in law school

instead of finishing school.

A dropped stitch for the ones

who didn’t make it

past the first chapter.

When the church bells chime six,

they pack up their work

with care—

these harmless old ladies

carrying weapons

disguised as afghans,

their pockets full of loose threads

that could unravel

an entire system

if pulled just right.