Ms Mausi's Pretentious Poetry corner...

[msfledermaus]

Neotraditional domesticity
breeds free-association thoughts, one by one,
to keep the stitches that slide off the needle
uneasy company...

White angora
Field of softest snow
in rows and rows
heaped up in straight mounds
back and forth in rhythms
that echo in
the pulse of the hands that hold the birch needles.
Click-click.
Birch trees in white
were once supposed to hold the souls of martyrs and heroes.
White limbs stretched to the sky
covered in white angora flakes.
Click click.
Garter stitch.
Box stitch.
Years ago, this was the only way to stay warm,
and love was spelled out
in birch wood needles
and manifest
in socks, mittens, heavy scarf.
Patterns woven from snow
to keep the unforgiving spirits of winter away.
And the Snow Queen
in her white angora cowl and heavy birchbark wand
would breathe messages over the crackling ice of the covered branches
as you sit and knit a scarf
in the rhythms of warm blood coursing through fingers engaged in meditative repetition.
Click-click.
Click-click.
Click-click....