Challenging Poetry

on knitting a scarf

fifty-eight stitches in green—
dark green cotton,
with just enough acrylic
to make a sock.
I don’t make socks.

I make lace out of sock yarn
beginning once
and ripping back
to trim the tail.

beginning twice—
three rows in, recount
and there are only fifty-six
loops hanging over my needles,
and a gap where they laddered
down and off the end
of the fabric.

knitting forgives
many things.
not that.
not when beginning again
is easier than trying to
salvage an edge.

beginning three times,
the pattern is eight rows long,
twelve stitches wide.
it marches on
with mathematical precision.
knit three together,
knit four, yarn over, knit one, yarn over,
knit four—repeat.

two ways to unknit:
first) tink—
knitting backwards,
unknitting each stitch
while keeping each backward
movement on the needle—
so that when the error is mended
knitting can continue

second) frogging—
taking out the needles
and ripping back
in joyous abandon—
some knitters can recatch their loops
and continue.
I can’t.

at thirty rows in—
a stitch ladders down
into a decrease
more than a pattern back.
after an hour,
I give up and frog:
rip it. rip it. rip it.

beginning four times,
I insert a lifeline
every sixteen lines—
veins of white
that catch fifty-eight stitches
so that if I have to rip,
I can stop there
and not go back
to begin again,
again.

I love working with lace, but trying to fix an error is sometimes more trouble than it's worth, as I have discovered to my cost. Ah well. Ripping out means that I get to knit a pattern again.