One could measure her breaths by hook of thread,
pulled through,
in one swift and delicate motion,
another slight movement of forefinger
and string, taut, folds in
to her pull.
It cleared her thought to return
to this gnarled-hands work
that abducted her
from other busy work
that kept the sun from shining on her.
Winter could wage war on her garden,
children could smudge her
highly polished perfection,
but she dreamed of cranberries
rising ripe and fat beneath
white rush of patterns in her head.
Clefts and tufts of dust and loose hair
found their way into her work
and a daughter, sitting in her shadow
saw only reason for surge of love
for the ballet of fingers
turning plainness into beauty.
There, in her chair, she was silver
animation of a woman
I can follow back to stringy beginnings
by unraveling tightly tucked memories
of a mother behind silk curtains
in the drawing room.
Author notes
jpg provided by contest holder of a "filamental emblem"--a crocheted design executed using three strands of sewing thread to create an emblematic pattern. The image and/or its name, "FrostBerry,"
In a list
A contest entry
- FrostBerry by micol.
475 points, ended January 10, 2008, 7 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 15 of 15
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This is an excellent response to the prompt, incorporating not only the physical act of crocheting but also an implied narrative, a sense of generations woven together through a shared art/craft, and a nicely adapted feeling for the content of the pattern.
In every respect, well done. Congratulations. -
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ty so much, micol, for your comments, and for the trophy.
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this is such a sweet, strong piece.
love "One could measure her breaths by hook of thread," "this gnarled-hands work," "ballet of fingers," and "other busy work / that kept the sun from shining on her."
and the whole "Winter could wreak..." stanza and the "Clefts and tufts" part already quoted by RedwingSpirit. excellently written.
for some reason i found the reading sort of choppy. eases into a smooth rhythm after a bit, with the "Winter" especially and also the "Clefts" stanza flowing perfectly well. But it seems to have a bit of a rough start and dissolve a bit at the end. i'm going to be a hypocrite now and say i found the placement of the line breaks, mainly in the first stanza, jolting. it could just be that i'm reading oddly, it didn't seem quite so choppy the third time. but you may want to give them a second look, along with the punctuation. for example, what do you think of
"One could measure her breaths by hook of thread,
pulled through in one swift and delicate motion.
Another slight movement of forefinger,"
and perhaps a period after "animation of a woman" since you make such a huge transition to "I" afterwards?
"I can follow projects back to"- to what? or do you mean "too"?
just a few small hair-splittings, but i think they could have a big impact on the poem. as it is, though, it's quite good. -
You brought me back to happier times, when I would sit at my Grandma's knee. She used to crochet without watching what she was doing and never miss a single stitch, all the while telling me stories of my Pa.
Sighhh... I miss her.
Thanks for the Memories, m'Lady.
~ Nicky♥
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I know...mine could tat and the tatting needle would work its magic while she scanned the horizon out the window. I was always amazed....
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I love this it is awesome I like these lines for I can relate in my crocheting hehe
Clefts and tufts of dust and loose hair
found their way into her work
Good luck in the contest.
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I can pick up something I worked on and knwo exactly what I was thinking and what was going on when I made the piece. Great memory holders, aye?
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Each knot is a lesson my grandmother use to say. Craft is art learned from repetition. I didn't want to hear it that way. My father crocheted and I macrame. Mother, sister, brother knit and perl and I wear the outcomes while my work holds there plants or graces their table tops. Each knot becomes a measure of where we have been as we become the ones who reflect our elders more than we want to admit.
Love the piece and the reflections it created inside of me. Beautifully done.
Love, Tom B.
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even in deepst alzheimer's affection...my mother crocheted in the air...msut have beenehavenly peices because she smiled constantly.
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I wouldn't quit if I kept quoting, I'll send you points for making me thoughtful
Carol Desjarlais you pronounce family more than sharing a name
this is associatively lovely, especially for me at :
"but she dreamed of cranberries
rising ripe and fat beneath
white rush of patterns in her head" with the tangible turn to it almost in the knitting evidence of what she was about with interim and mind.
you have a leading quality for your reader as the activity for touching upon understanding where casual and rich come together. the hitch of personal series heighteningly is noted with ending.
a thing to learn to clutch,
Carolyn -
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ty, Carolyn, for your kidn comments....yes, I have many peies my mother crocheted and am almost afaid to let them out in the air and sun....I have precise memories of when she was making some of the pieces....
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Brilliant..
So touching and perfect for the prompt.
You never cease to amaze me, dear poet with your talent and heart...
Lynda
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ty, Lynda. I always appreciate your comments.
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Excellent entry. I see my grandmother in it more than myself, surrounded by the icons of her life. Thank you for putting so much thought into this.
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You are welcome, micol. I do appreciate your comments.
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