patterning

on the woolen jumper-frayed string
caught on life’s little snags, twist & curl
in the cool breeze
the jumper fits him
like he needs weight
the deepest sky of blue
knitted by his mother
for hours by the radio, the Midday Show’s
acquired learning
stitch & counter stitch, busy hands
frenzied by the needle, chopsticks
at the restaurant
his mother
who took him as a child
to show to friends: ‘this is my boy
who won’t grow cold’
her eyes beaming out
her life patterning

 

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This entry was posted in literature, poem, poems, poetry, writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to patterning

  1. I love this poem. Your use of imagery is very sharp!

    Like

  2. David says:

    I still have the jumper in the closet! I think I’ll always have it. 🙂

    Like

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