She learned to knit
from her older sisters,
it was something they could do together
on cold winter nights.

Knit two, pearl one

One by one they left home
and soon she was knitting baby blankets
for nieces and nephews.

Then her sisters starting knitting
baby blankets
for her.

At family gatherings
they would knit
and talk about
their children.

At the church sewing circle
she would share tea rings with friends
gossip
and make scarves for orphans.
Life was good.

Knit one, pearl two.

When her father died,
(Parkinson’s)
followed soon after
by her mom
(a broken heart)
knitting kept her centered
peaceful,
rarely dropping a stich.

It was harder when her husband left

Knit two, drop one.

Eventually,
she started knitting baby blankets again
for her grandchildren.
They took longer than they used to
but still came out well.

Then there were the wakes
for her friends from the sewing circle.
The survivors would still knit
as they remembered the early years,
but without as much vigor.

Knit one, drop two.

Her hands were slowing down,
less stable,
and she started dropping
more stitches.

There were days
when she’d rip out
more
than she knitted.

The doctor said it was
essential tremors,
not Parkinson’s.
It relieved her,
but the knitting
still became harder.

Her sisters were now gone
So were her friends
from the sewing circle.

Knitting became solitary.
It became frustrating,
no longer the peaceful
meditation
it had once been.

Finally,
she put down
her knitting needles.