Poem · Poetry

The Craft

I am only a human seeking perfection

Weaving the yarn, anchoring my hook

Into a rhythm in each row,

Putting colors in place,

Counting the stitches,

Just like the meter in a poem.

Casting off, crocheting my lines,

Each stitch a thought, a memory

Taking me down the lines of discovery.

What am I making?

Will it turn out?

I study the creation, pleased that

Some rows acclaim symmetry and coherence to form.

So I revel in the virtuosity and clarity of hue

As though I have hooked into radiance.

But lo!

Other rows meander like a stream,

Wandering around the bed rocks.

Threads in some rows become weed like,

Tangled in the mud of past despair.

These are memories to be forgotten,

Words that should have never been said,

Plans gone awry, fitful dreams, diminished hope,

As though gripping this hook has crippled my thinking.

Where am I heading?

I am only a human,

Unraveling my knots.

┬ęBarbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog