here, not that i can show you anyhow. i’m squirreling away all accessory projects for potential book use and i haven’t started my next thesis project. so i figured i’d share some poetry with you all. if you’ve been to the about section of this blog, you know that shannon okey did an interview with me and published it here. in that interview it came out that i came to my college to paint or write poetry, and then i ended up knitting and knitting invaded all of my other artistic pursuits. here’s a poem i wrote in April 2005. wish i could have fit some woolie poetry in the thesis too, especially since my second reader is luci shaw. ah well. there’s only so much time.
Mingled Yarn
I.
my fingers know
about knitting,
about making what they need
mingled yarn
they do it automatically
unwilling
to take the easy out
to buy something
with less care
and with every move
reaffirmation
I am indeed clay
metal needles touching
the open senses
where the cut is now a scar
on my middle finger
like a pot made from clay
that wasn’t quite
kneaded enough
the memories
of the body
remain
the memories
of our past
remain
II.
and I think back
to my great, great grandmother
or perhaps
great great great
and how she died
in her nineties
picking apples
in the orchard up on a high ladder,
the last thing she saw
was the blue white grey
through the branches,
her old hand
clutching
one of the things
that it knew best in life-
the memory of objects,
the memory of movement
reaching
unable to prevent herself
from work
and at that moment
it did not seem to matter
if this would kill her
or not
and she could not imagine
it doing so
III.
we have lost so much
great great grandmother,
the practice
of the physical lost in eternity
my grandmother
shops at the mall
every Friday
gets her hair done and
buys clothing that she doesn’t need
and it will probably
never kill her
she tells stories
of you
and your apples
and I pray
that my knitting needles
are like your apples
that they will bring
sweet crisp death
to my sweet crisp life
when my
time comes.
*”The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.” -Shakespeare.
