My grandmother taught me to crochet
When I was three.
But it must not have made
An impression on me.
Or I would be doing it today.
And I ask myself why didn’t she say?
“This will occupy your idle hands
And help you to relax.
Keep your mind thinking of nothing else,
Not focused on attacks
That have nothing to do with who you are
And sneaks into the cracks
To invade your privacy.”
I’ve saved some things my grandmother made.
They were created with love.
And she saved the one thing I crocheted,
The one she was so proud of.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem