How a Lifetime Is Measured
Her pace is slow.
She shuffles across the floor.
Hand-knit slippers dust the boards with every slide.
Snug in her armchair, she savours yesteryear--
as she would homemade cherry pie.
as she would homemade cherry pie.
Sit a spell,
witness her transformation
witness her transformation
Her aged hands reach for her wands--
two metal sticks to conjure.
Yarn dances merrily.
It is under her spell.
It is under her spell.
Shapeshifting to your amazement.
She knits away the years.
Memories looping together.
She recalls herself, in the family way,
knitting a layette in sunshine yellow.
Dreams of her baby dancing merrily
keeping time with the clicks of the needles.
And still further back...
Her betrothed, Johnnie, straight and tall,
marching off to war
as she knit in khaki green
a prayer for his safe return in each stitch.
marching off to war
as she knit in khaki green
a prayer for his safe return in each stitch.
Love letters tucked into the parcels she sent.
And memory brings her back to the beginning
as if it were yesterday.
She sits at her grandmother's knee.
She takes the offered needles.
She knits her first stitch.
And memory brings her back to the beginning
as if it were yesterday.
She sits at her grandmother's knee.
She takes the offered needles.
She knits her first stitch.
Needles, yarn, stitches...
Her life is measured in these.
Revised: August 24, 2026, I've been working on this poem for ten years.
