Her long, bent fingers pull relentless. She holds the suede skirt
against her knees. “Everything you ever tear, bring to your Grandma.”
Grandma learned to knit outside Brookside coalmine, the men inside
the tunnels, bringing her worn slacks, and socks, and she obliged.
Obligingly she takes my split seams between arthritic knuckles
And mends them patiently, pausing to brush my hair before bed, a hundred times.
A hundred times she sat beneath the mountain, and toiled smoky hours
with a needle and thread, singing Jean Ritchie and sewing tarry trousers and cotton. Continue reading “2 Poems | Olivia Libowitz”