Everyday Canvas

Socks

Prompt: I'm a huge fan of creative Saturday, so here goes- She stared at me for a moment, then grimaced and with a sigh, she put away.... Well, it's your blog so have some fun weaving away!


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Socks

She stared at me for a moment, then grimaced and with a sigh, she put away her knitting. “Sock-knitting is mindless work, anyway!” Grandma glared at her knitting basket.

“Not true,” I said, eyeing the half-knitted work with the needles still on it holding the loops. “Writers and poets love knitting, or at least, appreciate those who do the knitting. They knit words together and stuff.”

“You’re only saying this to confuse me…”

I closed my eyes and recited:

“Maru Mori brought me
a pair of socks
which she knitted herself
with her sheepherder's hands,
two socks as soft as rabbits.
I slipped my feet into them
as if they were two cases
knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin,
Violent socks,
my feet were two fish made of wool,
two long sharks
sea blue, shot through
by one golden thread,
two immense blackbirds,
two cannons,
my feet were honored in this way
by these heavenly socks.

Pablo Neruda’s poem, Grandma, but it is longer than this. This is all I have in my memory.”

“Fish made of wool? What’s that! Feet? You waste your time with silly poems. Learn how to cook. Men like women who can cook.”

Here we go again! Her preferred domain was the kitchen and attached to it was all she could think of; getting me to hook a husband. I shook my head. “I am never going to get married,” I said. “And if I do, I’ll never cook.”

Grandma grimaced and picked up her knitting again. “Maybe you’re right. Some men deserve being starved.” She looked at me through the corner of her eye and giggled. "Especially who you'll probably pick..."


At the end, I did learn to cook and I do have a husband, but still I like poetry and Neruda. I even studied lit and all that. Come to think of it, in some way or other, we were both right, and after a few decades, I think fate favored us both.