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Button lies heavy.
It’s hard, black surface
Standing still and
Finding small comfort
Among the shiny, wrinkled ribbons
Of deep red.

Button reaches –
Touching the sister ribbon
Of faded yellow-green
Wanting what the ribbons have.

Ribbons so entangled.
Enmeshed in the softness
That cloud-like yarn offers
In gratitude.

They hardly notice
Button’s earnest effort;
Feeling only the weight.
Glass button, a sharp contrast.

Button, oh ill shaped button
Not a square, nor a circle
Who made you?

How is it you have landed here?

Loretta Warner, I Love Knitting
Poet and writer who uses all things textile – as a distraction.

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scraps_0001

Scraps…

The familiar.
What makes for the look sideways,
Over there?
Just to make sure the stuff is in its place.

Is it the dream?
That maybe.
Another look, only one this week.
Might it appear different?
Transformed!

Truly, it was the imagination,
All of those cruel words.
Words, words, and words…
Hurled words, like boulders.

Am I alive
Or merely a shell
The remnant of a person?
Having withstood, facing head-on,
With few words of my own
In combat.

Fail quickly, someone told me,
Too late!

See there, the empty, bent trash can.
Fill and tie a tight, square knot, with lid crammed shut.
The heavy thing carried away, by someone else.
A kind, hardworking soul.
Or, the virtual trash can, that makes a real sound.

Who cares how?
Only in the gratitude
That the space is now cleared.
New meaning allowed for, in this pretend life,
My one chance, I presume.

Limp to the safety.
Of the empty space.

And, rest for a while.

Loretta Warner, I Love Knitting
Poet and writer who uses all things textile – as a distraction.

Image

The blues stood next to the whites.
The reds near the browns and golds.
Grey wanted to hog the middle.
Navy gave us some relief.
Lilac wound a path.
Purple made an appearance.
As did black.
Lime green skirted the edge.
Pink pretended not to care.
A small mass of smoky grey laughed!

They let themselves fall
Onto the cream paper.

They let the paper feel their weight.
Paper smiled.

A marching burgundy swirled in
For the capture!

They rested in relief.

The trashcan stood near
Empty, without hope of being included.

It could have been worse
They told themselves.

“We have been saved,” the colors said.
“We have new purpose, we stand together.”

“The woman called us art,” they said.

Loretta Warner, I Love Knitting

ImageStitches leave spaces.

I’ve poked into the spaces
Wrapped, round and round.
I tied the ends, inside.

The piece is more alive, now.
It has a new feeling,
As if it is stretching toward –

Something?

Is it on a journey that only God knows?
Then, how is it possible,
That it was my hands that did the doing?

Loretta Warner, I Love Knitting …

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