My Own Ode to My Own Socks
That I had to live this long
before being blessed with hand-knit socks
testifies to the cyclical
appeal of needlework. Two
generations of women sewed
most of my clothes but didn’t have time
or patience to negotiate
with double-pointed #2s around the tricky
heel. I don’t either.
No matter—these blue beauties
house a complicated structure
of tendon, callus and bone
in tropical waters
where flecks of foam
caress sandbars, in summer
skies scudding over wheat fields.
The best gifts feel undeserved,
expose a raw nerve ending
of humility. I praise the soft
benediction a friend wove into each
stitch. I praise the gift
a friend of many years
continues to be. I praise her
hands, holding my feet.
Candace Black’s poetry manuscript Whereabouts won the 2015 Violet Reed Haas Award and will be published by Snake Nation Press in early 2017.