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For Ruth Ella Hendricks She sits and knits. Every stitch a tie, the clicking needles move her mind down the track from oblivion. Across the anxious plains she covers the distance with sweaters, the past safely blanketed in wool. Over under over under. Glorious babies arrive, grandchildren to fill the mittens, to sport Batman and Superman hats. She sits and knits, life swirling around her. Anna at the piano regal in a softly cascading wrap. Over under worries fade. She stitches together communities. High school teenagers, even boys, ask— ask!—to learn. She awakens what they have in them, cheers them as they display their handiwork before the world. Over under the world keeps spinning. In cities she visits yarn shops popping with color and possibility, forming a weave of memory, like the day in Philadelphia she now wears on her feet in a pair of Monet-colored socks. Over under the country unraveling, the old anxiety returning, she sits and knits pink hats for a new generation of women marching. A sister, a daughter, some fortunate friends take this gift handed down from grandmothers and try to rebind the frayed threads of the republic, arms linked over under, over under. With the sisters and daughters and mothers she has clad, she knits and knits. She rises. --- Copyright 2019 Roberta Hatcher Roberta Hatcher is the author of French Lessons.

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Feelings about knitting ring true to me. I enjoyed this very much!
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What a lovely surprise to reread your poem today, Roberta. It’s rare to inspire someone. I feel honored.
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