THE TRICOTEUSE
She has brows like a knitting machine;
teeth grinding, sliding back and forth,
hands tense twitching, like the furies,
hands tense twitching, like the furies,
knitting revenge into every stitch,
like Madame Defarge,
the tricoteuse.
the tricoteuse.
Like Nero,
she could be knitting while Rome burned.
For each stitch that drops off the needle,
another head will roll.
Stitch on stitch,
she builds a scaffold of reprisal
she builds a scaffold of reprisal
to shore up her pain and punish her foes,
fatally – clickety-clack.
As she watches the guillotine swing,
she never lets go of those knitting pins,
pinning elbows to sides,
tight, pressing breasts together,
like a turnkey, pointed,
like knives piercing nooses,
tearing at thread and yarn.
She never lets up on the rhythm of plains
and purls and slip stitch over,
knitting holes for the holy,
knotting sutures for her bleeding wounds.
She knits her worries into the fabric,
repetition relieving her heart’s terror.
She experiences no trauma.
The edge of life is taken off,
woven into lacy borders, colours,
a jacquard array, balm for her sorry soul.
Falling apart,
she knits to keep herself whole.
---Wendy Freebourne
Knit Designer and Poet
I constructed the
"Knitting Witches Spiderweb"
"Knitting Witches Spiderweb"
out of white cotton yarn and a glue stick!
Time consuming but fun!
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