International Poetry Competition
Grand Prize Winner: 2003
A Fate Takes a Holiday
by Mike Casey
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Relax!
Home Pond
Lost to landscapes scrolling past,
She sits knitting in the carriage of a train;
The blurred needles scintillate and glance
To the upbeat cadence of the wheels.
Rows of tiny coils and eyelets like beads
Of condensation gather on the upper rim
As she zips along with loops and riffs,
Nimbly delving with needle tips,
Her tilted face serene and still.
Once in a while she gives a heave
To loosen more yarn from the skein
Of Curragh wool—brushed worsted weave,
Spun and carded from the richest fleece
Deep in the wicker basket by her feet.
With each tug the feeding line of yarn
Becomes less taut and life flows on
More easily in these kind-
The needles flash mesmerically
With ancient rhythms and attack
Of duellists in their chainmail coats.
With little hesitation she can tack
From plain to purl to blackberry,
Count back by rote or slip a stitch
While the fish-
The rib-
From her enthralling hands;
Tresses and plaits, braided fields
Of heraldry, celtic-
With smocks and little saintly feet
All gather profusely in her lap,
As windfall trove, rich-
And warm with peach-
All crafted from a single line of yarn.
Marvels fall continuously from wise
Spell-
Poetry Contest