My mother bought wool by the skein
great looped coils of it, too loose
to be worked with needles.
My outstretched hands, a skein looped
distance between them, anchored the hank
while she pulled, first from one hand
and then the other, ladling the wool
into balls, unravelling my yarn dressed hands
that tilted up and down, swaying to and fro,
forwards and backwards to her rhythm.
Firm but not taut
Loose but not free
If I missed a step
the skein would tangle
and I would have to let go.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016