1/16/08 Mittens

When it's cold out I put on my mittens
and imagine a woman in Bangladesh or India
sitting at a sewing machine piecing them together.
Mitten after mitten after mitten.

I wonder if she knows I'm thinking about her,
if she knows how important her work is to me.
Because sometimes my hands get so cold
they turn red and won't bend and they ache.

I wonder how useless mittens seem to the woman,
as useless as a snowblower or a remote car starter.
I wonder if she ever thinks about me.