Poem of the Week: The Virtual Crafter

Carolyn Aune
Minnesota Branch

 

My Aunt sits in the well worn wing chair,
Her winter grey braids, thick as a child’s wrist,
Wrap around her noble head.
I’m perched on a low leather hassock,
My thin arms stretched in benediction
Proffering the skein of wool
That my Aunt winds slowly into a ball.
I am five years old.
Later, I watch the needles flash,
Catching the firelight as they tap out a click clack rhythm.
“I can’t teach you how to knit” my aunt murmurs” you’re left handed.”

 

Yet, might I claim that I did learn to knit If only in the virtual sense?
For, I knitted together the nine Disparate souls, snuggled in my womb For their allotted nine months

Before they were flung into the world
Where they were nourished into a cohesive whole.
Knit together, strong bonds that likely will never unravel. We are still, today, above all else, a close-knit family.

 

Now, my mother’s mother was a quilter
I see her nestled on a narrow sofa,
Placing every delicate stitch,
No nonsense black lace up oxfords planted firmly Atop the braided rug.
Every pattern in harmony, Every stitch perfect.

 

Yet might I claim to be a quilter too?
For I have fashioned a crazy quilt of a life, Struck to the core with the dull colors of Grief and Turmoil and tragedy
Blended with flashes of bright colored joy, Recording a kaleidoscope of complexity.

It was in the euphoric months of a first pregnancy, That I tried my hand at weaving. …
A small loom, the strands of wool the soft
Colors of baby pink and blue.
But life intervened, the loom abandoned, accusing me.

 

Yet might I claim that I did learn to weave? For I wove the strands of nine children’s lives Into a cohesive tapestry able to withstand
A world that hasn’t always been kind.

 

So I am, if only in the virtual sense,
A knitter, a patchwork quilter,
And a weaver of lives that now look
Fearlessly ahead to the future.

 

Comments

  1. Margaret Gonzalez says:

    Wonderful poem!

  2. My grandma is left handed (I’m not) and she taught me how to crochet. My mother can not stitch to save her life, but you helped me gain new perspective on the weaving of souls!

  3. The title grabbed me, and the first verse was so beautiful…and continued on for the entire poem. Congratulation on a lovely piece.

  4. Mary J. Meagher says:

    A well-crafted poem that speaks volumes about human relationships as we journey through time. Well done.

  5. Wonderful! Thank you!

  6. What a beautiful, sobering poem.

  7. Tracy Lanum says:

    I was touched and very moved by this ‘memoir-like’ poem. You have great poetic skills Carolyn Aune. I applaud you.

  8. I love this beautiful poem, the images of people and tapistry woven together like movie scenes.

  9. Sandy Huff says:

    This is lovely. It connects us to our foremothers, all the way back to EVE. Thanks for sharing this. Sandy Huff, A-L

  10. Your poem is beautiful. With strong imagery and a memorable theme, it tells a satisfying story. Thank you for sharing it.

  11. Sara Etgen-Baker says:

    absolutely took my breath away. Yes, you are a knitter and a quilter…and aren’t we all. Thank you!

  12. The heart and soul that went into the creation of this poem is palpable. And so, as it neared the end, it’s no surprise I felt a run of goose bumps, Such a strong and beautiful message.

  13. Jeanne Frost says:

    Your lovely poetry speaks to my heart with the interwoven threads of an artful life. More important than anything is the imagination and creativity it takes to raise children. I love your writing.

  14. Laura Walth says:

    That reminds me of my grandma’s. The one who was a knitter had a braid wrapped around her head. The other grandma was a quilter. It brought back lots of good memories. I didn’t learn to knit or quilt, but I too became a weaver of lives from the life lessons I learned from their examples. Thanks for sharing the memories!

  15. Ariel Smart says:

    I like your poem. Last night I dreamt I had thirteen children. In truth, I had one.
    I trust the value of dreams for writing poems. I hope each birth for you was worth the pain;, then the anquish