Knitting Granny (poem)

[Primula]

I haven't written much non LOTR poetry, at least not for several years... I was just poking through some of my older stuff from the past couple years and rediscovered this. Thought it might be worth putting 'out there' in case any of you have had something similar in your lives.

Knitting Granny

I need to find a new knitting granny
My washrags and towels are so bad.
I've used them up with scrubbing,
With bleaching and with rubbing;
The holes are growing, the edges are frayed.
I need to find a new knitting granny.

My old knitting granny was a cheerful soul
Always at the church bazaar,
All comfortable midst her piles of knitted booties,
Scarves, hats, pot-holders, towels and cloths.
Every year I would pick out one or two,
As she knitted in the sunshine that came through the window.

Her voice reminded me of birds in the springtime,
When they twitter on from amid the leaves,
Cheerfully telling everyone
In her little monologue,
(Whether they inquired or not -)
About how she used up the scraps, waste not want not,
That's why that one there is many colors -
Those are for the children, you know,
You can put candy in them at Christmastime.
I don't know what size those hats are -
I just kind of guess, you'll have to try them on.
Some kids have big heads, you'd be surprised.
Aren't those towels the prettiest colors?
Sometimes I can't choose which edging for them.

She chuckles to herself at some inner joke or memory,
Knits a little more as I slowly choose.
Her hand-lettered paper tags are pinned to the towels;
Silver straight pins, the ones with plastic colored knobs.
She likes to carefully take them off when you buy one,
And saves them to be used again.
Small squares of plain paper with shaky numbered prices,
Neatly tucked into a tattered envelope.

She sets aside her knitting to hand me my change,
And settles back into her nest with a little tug on her sweater.

I looked for her this Autumn, but she was no longer there.
Where was she? They weren't sure, hadn't heard from her at all.
The late year's sun shone weakly on her corner;
A plump stranger sat there, stared mutely from behind
A display of beaded ornaments, stiff doily sachets ,
Cross-stitched bookmarks dangling from a plastic tree.
The scent of cider, and cheerful music is in the air,
But my heart feels a twinge, empty and cold.
I do not stay long.

The holes are growing,
Autumn's edges are frayed.
I need to find a new knitting granny.

[daughter_of_kings]

Knitting grannies are a treasure, and getting rare in some parts of the world. You've made a perfect description, Prim... very sweet and sort of sad.

[Pi]

Wonderful! Was this a real story you put to words? It feels real. It is so touching and melancholy.
My grandmother was a wonderful woman (aren't all grandmothers?) who darned my socks, and knitted me scarves, mittens and hats when I was a child.
What wonderful memories...
I hope you find your new knitting granny

[Silivren Ithildin]

Awww, how melancholy!!!!

Sil

[Primula]

I have no idea what may have happened - I hope it was just being ill that day, or moving to Florida or something, not anything worse... No one there seemed to know. I wrote this after coming back from that craft bazaar, when I'd found her missing from her sunny place.

[faramirgirl]

Very lovely Prim.

[Dínelleth]

I didn't have a grandmother who knitted but I had one who made braided rugs out of old but still good clothing.

[OrangeblossomTook]

What an amazing and wonderful poem, ((((Prim)))). Having spent half my childhood with either my mother's mother or my father's grandmoter, I just adore it.