Dead Woman’s Knitting

The neighbour said

In a brief moment of empathy:

‘The shoes are the worst.

They lit a bonfire when my mother died

They threw her slippers on the pyre

And I cried.’

Two weeks later

Stir-crazy amid non-stop rain

I stand, unravelling a dead woman’s knitting

Waste not, want not

Salvaging every scrap to make it my own

My mother’s toil

Rescued from the fire

Re-wound, recreated, renewed,

Added to my palette of colours

A woollen nest of memories

For the needles’ rebirthing.


One thought on “Dead Woman’s Knitting

  1. Paul Toolan

    Now that’s a poem. Emotion recollected in something approaching tranquility, and creating the universal from the personal. More please.

    And do let me have your email – I have two South West writers opportunities to pass on.



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