Sunday, 10 October 2010

Knitting Pearls

Knit three, wool over needle, lace
Knit three, wool over needle, lace
Yarn yawns and stretches
beneath my touch
Taking shape in lines of faith
one by one by one,

I knit in hope
and dream of names
of future daughters and sons.

I make mistakes,
I drop a stitch
and pick it up too late

But always, a steady hand awaits,
My grandmother's,
My mother's,
My own.

Life is a course in miracles
And I am knitting a calendar
for when I am old
and there are stories to be told
yarn will hold them for me.



- Shaista Tayabali, 2010


7 comments:

Claudia said...

Beautiful poem. So very touching.

Wine and Words said...

That is such a lovely testiment to the labor of hands, how those items pass down, not just in their physical form, but in the hands and fingers that knit them. And yes....the memories.

Susan Erickson said...

The mark of the maker is always there...the dropped stitches, the clumsy corners....all make it more special....more intriguing....

Jeanne-ming said...

I love the poem. Yes, knitting marks time, one stitch at a time. Love you so much dear girl.

A Cuban In London said...

Knitting your life into the labyrinth of the unknown. That was one of the most beautiful paeans to the craft that hands make I've read in a long time.

Many thanks. Welcome back. And the last photo (top to bottom) is glorious. :-)

Greetings from London.

Richard said...

I count on your poems and pictures Shaista.
Richard Webb.

willow said...

Beautiful words, beautiful pearls, beautiful you.

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