It took Kathleen six years to knit the café walls. Another three for the furniture and cakes. The customers took longer. She was so busy knitting her grandparents that she forgot to visit them until too late. Now it seems she’s created a woolly coffin. Her shame forever on display.
OH. I love those. Where is the cafe please?
ReplyDeleteCrickets clicking
ReplyDeleteAgnes knitting
teapots, cakes;
she listens, makes
- in Cornish blue.
You wouldn't think
that you could drink
from vessels of yarn.
Then,
when they're hole-ridden
she'll weave her magic
to give a darn
for you.
But;
it's forbidden
to ask
for glue.
It was a cafe for a day! Actually it's normally an art gallery in Charlotte Street, but this was for the festival. I'd love to see a knitted building though. Wasn't htere a shed!
ReplyDeleteLove the poem,Kathryn.