Cables emerge in stripes, in filigree,
And I have knitted up all my loe in this,
Created warmth, from pungent wool,
A shell of fuzz to wrap what isn’t there.
This dance of loops, skimming through my fingers,
Needles flashing, remembering, yearning
for the one who fills my dreams,
I breed the wearer.
Creative imagining cannot bring to life
What I would have you be,
You knitted dear one;
I wrap these finished arms around me,
Hoping for a clasp to squeeze me back,
Hoping for more than this futile raveling and unraveling.
If I could only make a cummerbund of my arms for you,
And have you wear it proud.
This poem was found in my grandmother’s things. It is not signed. It was typed on a typewriter. We are thinking it was written by either by grandmother or my cousin, Carol. I am more leaning towards my grandmother, because of the way the poet seems to speak of knitting while pregnant -“. . .yearning for the one who fills my dreams, I breed the wearer.” And this: “Creative imagining cannot bring to life what I would have you be. . .” – maybe?
The lines could also be written for a lover, or a desired one, but if this was my cousin writing, I don’t see her writing these lines.
Hmmmm – any help out there? Is this merely a poem that was copied out by my grandmother? Anyone ever seen it before? I’m very curious, and I love it!