She taught me the rhythm
of the yarn and the hook
one morning in the mountains
and I spent the day looping,
pulling, creating a length
of childish cloth, pulled too tight
in some places, loose in others,
a haphazard scarf that I’ll never wear.
But oh the blues that grew
from my hands and the
thrill of cloth spilled forth
from nothing but my hours
of dactylic meditation
and a single skein.
(for Self Portrait Challenge: Patterns)
I know that feeling.
Awwww… that’s definately one of my favorite poems of yours so far. I have my reasons.
i have plenty of those scarves in my closet, but i love them all
Have arrived from Poetry Thursday final post, and am so glad to have found this poem. It’s a beautiful portrayal of the magic of handling yarn. The reminder for me is of my Auntie Claire teaching me to knit when I was home from school with a cold. I can feel the heat of the kitchen and hear her patient voice with her instructions. Thank you for sharing this.
Very nice! Knitting is so many things, not the least of which is the interaction with the teacher and the newbie. I helped two of my grandgirls learn to knit – one wears well-made ‘things’ and the other one wears ‘haphazards’ with delight!
I tried to learn knitting last year from my very good friend who is a knitting genius…lol. She tried her best but I wasn’t very good at it…I hope to try my hand at it again some day. Beautiful poem!
“oh the blues that grew from my hands…”
beautiful line!