Swans and Hearts

My daughter asked for a sweater when she turned five.

She wanted swans and hearts. I, mother of the quick fix, the good enough, always sure the inside wouldn’t show, was stumped. Swans and hearts would take some planning. I found my mother’s needles in her knitting bag, faded stripes of silk with narrow pockets sewn inside.

Did I have it in me, the knowledge of the fingers, which way to wrap the yarn, how to transfer stitches, cast on, cast off? They say it’s based on instinct, like mothering, no need for Dr. Spock.

I feared I had the instincts of a coat rack.

I picked bright pink, with white swans on a turquoise sea, coaxed out a pattern, calculated colors, knit one row at a time. The swans and hearts began to grow, separated on the right side, but underneath, linked by strands of pink.