A Knitting Poem

 

Left over wool from a ball of WYS Pheasant and Fabel Drops Grey colour 115. Hope I have enough wool for a second sock!!

A knitting poem. This poem was first published in the Cork Literary Review, way back in the day. But I have edited it a bit to take in my new passion and to update it.

In Through the Bunny- hole

 

My mother never taught me how to cable.

 

I can slip knitways and knit two together

even through back of loop.

I can pick up and knit and turn and purl and turn and slip

and pass slip stitch over.

Enough to make cuffs and turn heels.

Enough to make socks.

 

They say that every Aran pattern tells its own tale.

I see them sitting, generations of women,

clicking fluently with their fingers

of  village clearance and emigration

of where they’ve been and where they are going

while their tongues trip over new syllables.

 

My mother never taught me how to cable

She never needed to speak of village clearance

or emigration or missile strikes or nuclear threat

But what if I do?

Copyright 2022 Cathy Leonard All rights reserved