Knitting Woman
In her chosen corner she sits. Rivers of knitting
cascade plaining and purling over her lap
winter and summer together. She has her reasons,
knows that sudden contrary August weather
is worse than blizzards in winter, trusts no seasons.
Her young have escaped. She sees them
at large in the world’s cold winds. Her anxious care
follows them all by post, in cumbersome parcels,
cabled and striped and ribbed. She knows no ill
that can’t be cured in an Aran jacket, or better
endured in a mohair sweater. God
may temper the wind or not, but never
a lamb of hers will ever be caught shorn.
She sits defying hap and circumstance,
weak chests, ill luck, chaos and old night.
She would like to knit the whole world a pullover.
by Evangeline Paterson
Happy National Poetry Month!
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