Handmade Poem by Neile Genica Mijares

Mother’s yarns are cradled in a wicker tray she has covered with her tender gazes.

Meters and meters of pink line wound into a ball awaits for deployment into another craft.

With fingers that curl firmly on a rod (with hooks on either side) she reins the disobedient loop (that never heeds her will) at each graceful flick of the wrist.

She makes a long chain with every clockwise turn to make the plain yarn into a blouse to be worn by a daughter she has reared with loving hands and occasional knitting of her brows.