June Fourth


Night falls again. I hug my knees
to my chest in a white nightgown
nearly the same as the one I wore
as a child. Ruffled around the edges,
embroidered pink flowers. I remember

     the ugly girl I was, walking to school
     alone. Up the hill. Black and white
     saddle shoes, knobby knees, bruised legs.
     My grandmother made me a purse
     from the bottom half of a bleach bottle.
     The top was crocheted with green yarn.
     It matched the cardigan she made for me.

My knitting bag bulges on the floor
near the side of the bed,
the dark imitation of an angry porcupine.
I've more needles than will ever be used,
an inheritance from generations of knitters,
crocheters, tatters, and lace makers. I remember

     she let me pick the buttons.
     We made a special trip to the five and dime
     in Ridgewood. There were so many
     to choose from; six to a card.
     She bought a spool of thread to match.
     In the winter she made mittens,
     scarves and hats, each grandchild
     a different color; mine were always
     green and white. I don't remember

where those things have got to now.
The afghan she made for my birthday
is folded at the foot of the bed.
I push my feet beneath the weight
of granny squares, switch off the light,
fall asleep imagining the drops of spring rain
on the cellar door are knitting needles
clicking together all through the night.

~*~

Cheerwell, Mary :O)


=====
Good Cheer & Be Well,
     Maryann Hazen Stearns

"Under The Limbo Stick" http://www.geocities.com/Faerhart/

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Get better spam protection with Yahoo! Mail.
http://antispam.yahoo.com/tools