Roswila's Dream & Poetry Realm

SEE ALSO: TRYING TO HOLD A BOX OF LIGHT (photos, realistic to abstract)

Sunday, June 25, 2006


[image from]

This is a very old story, one that I vaguely remember had a dream image as part of its inspiration. The idea of knitting and unraveling, I believe. (I both crochet and knit at a basic level, though not much in recent years.) At the time I wrote this story I’d been doing a lot of writing in the first person, experimenting with different character voices.

I used to read "Knitting" at open poetry readings where it usually enjoyed a nice response. Which point reminds me of something I know about my writing: it comes across far better when I read it aloud, than if someone just reads it on the page. The obvious conclusion is that I imbue my work with something when reading aloud that is not readily accessible from the page. I accept this, though I do sometimes wonder if this reflects a weakness in my writing. Then again, maybe it just means I inherited some of my theater family’s performing genes after all! :-)


“Hi, Sue? It’s Mom. Yeah, I’m home and the trip was fine. Hardly any traffic on the freeway....Yes, yes, your Grandma’s fine....Honey, that’s why I’m calling. I told you the last time we saw Grandma that I knew, just plain knew she was there, behind all that silence? Well, the feeling was even stronger this time....Yes, the aides say she’s no better, no worse.

“Sue, I know you’re really busy with the kids and all; I can hear them. But honey, this is important. And I’m not just imagining things because I want Grandma to be better. I could feel her back there, behind those dark eyes; it’s like she never really went away.

“Well, let me tell you then. I was sitting next to her on the front porch of the home, rocking with her on the swing, my hand on her arm, you know how I love to touch her loose soft skin, and I get this picture in my mind, as clear as if it were a photograph hanging right there in the air. It was me and your Grandma at the beach when I was little. I was tired and cranky, and your Grandma was brushing the sand off my feet getting us ready to go home, and giving me little kisses when she could get past my wiggling.

“But the thing is, Sue, I felt like I was having Grandma’s memory, too! So I looked up real quick and Grandma didn’t look any different, just her usual vague stare. But I kept having memories, things I had plumb forgot or hadn’t thought about in years and years. And all of them like they were Grandma’s memories, too....Honey, I know, I know you think I just won’t accept that Grandma’s gone to us. But, Sue, come with me next time.

“You know, she was remembering Joe, too....Yes, she was, and I always told you she didn’t hate him. She just loved you so much anyone who wasn’t a fairy tale prince just wasn’t enough husband for you....OK, Sue, I won’t talk about Joe anymore.

“But there is one more thing. The last memory your Grandma and I shared was in our old front parlor, in that home on Eighth Street, when I was just a little kid. Well, your Grandma was knitting, making a great green sweater for your Grandpa and the whole back piece of it was just about done.

“Then she suddenly started to rip it out. I was so upset, it was so beautiful! I asked her why she was doing that. And she said because she had dropped a whole bunch of stitches way back at the beginning and had just noticed. For the life of me, Sue, back then I just couldn’t understand why a couple stitches could matter all that much. Especially since she’d gone on knitting for so long and didn’t even notice them. And she laughed and said that part of the sweater, and who knew, maybe even the whole thing would just fall apart if she didn’t get those lost stitches back to home.

“Honey, I’ll make my point and end this call: we got to share in Grandma’s remembering. It’s memory that holds the important stuff together....Yes, yes, you go to your kids. But please promise me you’ll think about coming with me next time? Please? We may not have much time and there are so many lost stitches.”

* * * *

Resource: Fiction Press, I’ve not ever actually posted my writing to a site such as this, but sites like these might be a way to share and get feedback. From their homepage: “FictionPress is a growing network of over 144,000 writers, hundreds of thousands of readers, and home to over 890,000 original works. As a writer, this is a place to showcase your creativity and for a reader, FictionPress is an opportunity to feast to your heart's content.“

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.


At 2:49 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

I like your writing, but you are at your strongest when writing about family. Certainly the strongest emotions seem to be there. Or maybe it's because family is so important to me and I react more strongly to that in someone's writing.


At 10:09 AM , Blogger Roswila said...

I, as usual, really appreciate your comment. You like my writing! That made my day. :-)

It may very well be that my writing is strongest about family stuff. Makes sense since those relationships are just about the most impactuful we form in life, IMHO.


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