Starting with a knot looped on a size eight
metal needle, I begin to knit.
The yarn is a thick wool that makes me itch
but my mother loved the feeling of wool.
I remember her sitting beside me
knitting with the same needles and yarn
smiling when I asked if she would teach me.
Knit one, purl two and I pull the string tight
as I loop it around the needle.
“Not too tight” she says as I hurry through
“The needle will get stuck” and she was right.
I unravel the skein so the yarn is loose
enough to work with. Knit one, purl two
and continue until the row is done.
The wool is green, her favorite color,
the green of fresh grass and new beginnings.
She said it was a color full of life.
Start a new row by flipping the needles.
Knit one, purl two and repeat until
the row is complete, then flip the needle.
I never finished one of my projects
but I feel that I will finish this one.
“Pay attention or you will drop a stitch”
her soft voice whispers in my memory.
She was always there to pick up all
the lost stitches and I quicken my pace.
As soon as I remembered her words
I dropped a stitch and watched it all unravel.
I look to my side, where she would have sat,
eyes searching for the answer before
it all falls apart. I try to grab the lost
Stitch but I miss and it sinks deeper,
pulling apart all the rows I have knit.
“Don’t be sad” she used to say “You can just
start over. The next one will better.”
Starting with a knot looped on a size eight
metal needle, I begin to knit.
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