she wondered
while unpicking the wool
seating in her work-chair
beside the fire
wondered if perhaps
it was herself
that was becoming unraveled
shook her head to clear the thought
and started re-balling the yarn
each evening she would settle in
to start the pattern anew
needles clacking in double time
tat-tat tat-tat tat-tat
and the shape formed rapidly
for she had skill at the craft
but no matter what variation she tried
it still was not right
lacked a certain something
some quality of warmth
or a presence
and had to be started over
again
she mused to herself
laughed aloud once
to think
it was rumoured
that they’d made a woman
out of simple rib
what tosh
rib is fit only for cuffs and edgings
and it takes more than an arc of gristle
to shape a body
you have to start small
fashion some mice or rabbits
tea cosies
then build your way up
to the trickier things
and when she got this pattern right
oh yes
she’d show them something
to look at
© Frank Prem, 2010
Another in this mythologically inspired series: maketh the man
090518
Meaty. I used to knit and was taught my nana, ironically she was pretty bad compared to my mother and her sisters, the clackety clack, was like a cottage industry some days. Used to love it.
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How lovely. How beautifully written.
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Thank you.
Cheers,
Frank
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I feel this way when I write, too, that something is not right… Till I find the “right” words..
A lovely read, as always.
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Thank you.
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