Many coveted my handiwork--

Lacy grapes and swirls in white,

Wrought in nervous energy

in the midst of

and unemployment crisis.

One friend begged,

"Make me one.  I'll treasure it."

"It will take forever,"

I demurred.

"I can wait," she insisted.

She didn't know I meant

that I didn't know whether

I wanted to invest

so many months crocheting

for someone I had just met.

But I commenced.  Stress aided

my fingers, as my

mother lay dying far away

while I helplessly tended my family.

Months later,

I presented a lovely, elaborate

piece of work to my friend.

I had prayed over every stitch--

health, success and happiness

for this woman.

I still hoped that our friendship would

bloom and mature.

She thanked me lightly for the piece,

like it was a pan of brownies

made from a box mix.

"That's so nice, thank you."

And she folded it

and put it back into the tissue paper.

So she also handled my

offer of friendship.

I have learned to be

suspicious of those

who don't comprehend the

arduous art

of crochet. 

I still practice it,

because the discipline  

improves my soul,

which feeds continously on hope.