Weaver's Woe Poem by Cherie Mort

Up. Down. Up. Down.
I move the threads around with my fingers
My arms ache from having to hold them up so high for so long
Before me is a massive tangle of purple yarn
Slowly, slowly it starts to take form
Right now it's just a bunch of strings on a makeshift loom, all ready for weaving

I begin to shift the threads one by one
A thread from the back comes forward; a thread in front moves back
I repeat the pattern over and over until I finish the line
In the next row I take two skeins of yarn from the back and bring them forward, reverting back to moving only one skein at a time after that

Near the end, I find that I have somehow acquired an extra string
Sighing, I unravel the last few rows of my work until I find the problem area
I fix my mistake and re-weave the areas that I tore apart

The weaving keeps bunching in toward the middle, making it harder to weave
I separate the strands out a little bit to keep the piece from curving like it wants to before finishing the last line
Once done, I drag a string through the middle of my weaving to keep it from unraveling; I tie it tight
Then I start to thread another skein into the first and last rows of the piece I've woven

I try to use a bodkin to help the yarn go through, but at some point the skein slips off the bodkin and I have to carefully pick through the row to find it, so I don't unravel all my work
Once that's finally done I stitch up the sides in order to hold it all together, and I look at my new hat with pride and sorrow