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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2011607
by Rhyssa
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Contest Entry · #2011607
the fascination is in what isn't there
as I knit
the yarn is everything
running through my hands
so smooth it catches on the tiny
imperfections of my fingers
looping over the needles—
uniform solidarity

but the ancient art of lace
isn’t about the yarn
although it can be beautiful—
dyed in tones of blue green,
cashmere soft and merino strong

and lace isn’t about the knitter
although I might spend
months knitting and unknitting
and reknitting until
I find the pattern

lace is the empty spaces
between the yarn
the intentional holes left
as I manipulate loops over the needles
as skillfully as a puppeteer
makes a marionette dance

and as I finish,
bind off,
weave in the ends,
wet the fabric—
this long, complicated knot I’ve tied—
I finally stretch it until
the empty spaces where the yarn isn’t
shine.

line count: 31
© Copyright 2014 Rhyssa (sadilou at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2011607