Casting On With Grandmother

She taught me the art of patience,
guiding awkward childish fingers
to draw a loop around a needle,
keep going until too-tight, sweat-soaked wool
became a square.

Knit was the basic stitch, purl soon followed,
we explored more complicated structures
more colourful and designs until, together,
we conjured up a rainbow
from cheap or unravelled yarn
that itched.

Later, at parties, that knitter
in the corner was me,
sipping wine and smoking roll-ups
while creating fashion furiously.
I got a kick from casting on,
colour, ply and texture played their part,
and the pattern was important,
involving much searching of the heart.

Mornings are for writing any time
of the year. Early light and birds
inspire images and words.
But in winter, when draughts
catch me unawares,
a growing woollen item
keeps me warm.

Although my fingers aren’t as nimble,
I love the comfort of the click,
counting stitches and rows.
Looping and slipping yarn
is therapy for me,
and I like to think it keeps me on my toes.

Kim M. Russell, 22nd April 2025

On Day Twenty-Two of NaPoWriMo, the daily resource is the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, a beautiful place I have been fortunate to visit several times, and the optional prompt is inspired by the poem ‘Thanking My Mother for Piano Lessons’ by Diane Wakoski.

Our challenge is to write a poem about something we’ve done, such as music lessons, or playing football, crocheting, fishing or learning how to change a tyre, which gave us a similar kind of satisfaction to that described in Wakoski’s poem, and perhaps still does.

I took several old poems about knitting and reworked them to fit the prompt, but in the photo I was crocheting!

Also linked to the dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night on 11th September 2024.

55 thoughts on “Casting On With Grandmother”

  3. Very tight knit poem, Kim. I really liked the line, “unraveled yarn that itched.” And the ending was delightful. The rhythm of the poem almost sounded like the click, click of knitting needles. What a great grandma.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  4. My Grandma (my father’s mother) taught me to both knit and crochet when I was very young. I didn’t really take to knitting (though I can do it and have made some nice things) but have been crocheting happily ever since. I have sometimes taught crochet via Neighbourhood Centres, and as a young mum used to sell crochet tank tops for kids – fashionable then – at a local shop.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  5. My maternal grandmother taught me to knit. Or at least how to get very frustrated with knitting. I am left-handed, backwards, and upside down, so I gave up on knitting and moved to crocheting, which made more sense to my brain.

    I’m working on my last project now. Arthritis in my hands and crocheting are not friends with each other.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    1. I know the feeling, Nolcha. Sometimes my fingers seize up or my wrists ache. Knitting for the grandchildren is best for me, as I can get it done quicker and it’s easier to hold. And it’s definitely an autumn/winter pastime for me. My hands get too sweaty in warm weather.

      Like

      Reply

  8. Lovely poem, Kim. Knitting was never my thing — too complicated — but I crocheted a lot of basic things. So much thought invested between the stitches. It is a wonderful meditative practice. Nice that your grandmother taught you. I can’t remember how I learned to crochet.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    1. My nan was not only a good knitter, she was also a patient teacher. When I lived in Germany, my knitting friends laughed at the way I knitted, but I could never get the hang of how they did it.

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

  13. I know you written about knitting before. I really love this one, and I can see you and your grandmother, you in a corner at a party, you now on a cold day. . .so evocative!

    (Also, I love the skills passed from grandparents to children. I saw that with my children.)

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  14. I love this poem, Kim! It made me feel so cosy! My favourite feeling. Love this bit especially:

    “Later, at parties, that knitter
    in the corner was me,
    sipping wine and smoking roll-ups
    while creating fashion furiously.”

    If I had seen you, I would so have joined you! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  16. “I got a kick from casting on,
    colour, ply and texture played their part,
    and the pattern was important,
    involving much searching of the heart.“

    I love the details of these lines comparing knitting to introspection. I have never knitted. The fiber-arts class I took my first year of university covered so much else. Thank you for your lovely poem.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  18. One craft achieves one thing, another craft hits a necessary second note. For me it’s music and writing. My uncle, a neurosurgeon, played clarinet. My wife, its sewing and decor. My father preached and lifted stones. Sometimes both are sustained, other times one rises from the other. They are related, maybe intimate, but one must count what the other rhymes. Love the pic, it sings the poem.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  21. You’ve captured the flow of the cycles of life with knitting as a scaffolding that keeps it together, so gently and subtly hinting at each stage. I was touched by the grandmotherly guidance, smiled at the grown up and cool stage illustrated by the lines below…

    “Later, at parties, that knitterin the corner was me,sipping wine and smoking roll-ups”

    …and am gliding into the stage you’re describing now, with these lifelong activities keeping us on our toes. I’ve taken up embroidery again after a 45-year hiatus, and it is a similar connection to youth but also a comforting muscle memory activity.

    A poem that can make me feel all that is a worthy poem, indeed, Kim.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

Leave a reply to LuAnne Holder Cancel reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.