Crocheting Memory
Nursing homes know
arts and crafts
become valued visitors
some with smiles
some with hooded foreshadow
How tenuous
how earnest
mixed genders
sitting in circles
anxiously hooking
thick wool string
tendrils of perpetuity
threading dreams
shawls of protection
scarfs of statement
booties of tomorrow
Trees of life
now but withered branches
shedding leaves of time
by twig-like fingers
punctuating yesterday
with every hole-by-hole entry
every stitch by stitch attachment
allowing Age's changing colors
to float blithely
earthward
and beyond
Like observant wings on high
we can but gaze down upon
Time's swirling visions in slow motion
a vortex permitting but a glimpse
of our yet-to-come reality
For now
We ride the draft
peering safely from afar
as seasoned providence
weaves lessons into
what is still to come
Something soft
Something warm
Something to touch
Something to feel
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You made me think of my 5 weeks in the University hospital in Madison Wisconsin. They wanted me to learn how to make potholders to sell as an occupation with my paralyzed hands and college level skills. The level of occupational therapy available in those dark ages. Changed much since.
But my aunt, after losing two husbands, took up crocheting and never entered a nursing home. She crocheted 13 star flags in 1976. And, although they took a week to make, she charged $13 for them and I bought one from her. She didn't need the money, but it must've been a joy for her to create so many things for so many people with her crocheting skill.
Ron