Momma and her crojo. |
You know, Momma’s got the Crojo, crochet gone mad like handicraft in riot, like yarn in loop and needle needing more, like woman lusting pattern born of hook and dexterous hand, and this I know because I see her countenance aglow, and Momma had a cup of Joe that got her mojo going. “Darn the yarn,” she shouted loud yet I knew she wasn’t damning it like Farragut damned those torpedoes at Mobile Bay, but Momma punned and needled me and frilled the moment with hi-ho, and twinkled pupils filled with fun, frivolity a flagrant imp, a compass spinning magnetic north--oh Momma, My Momma seed the spool with hooray thread and apprehend the threadbare knees, for mojo knows of cleft and cleave kick-starting bare and ragged, and charming loops from our matriarch’s hands so skilled, makes hip divisions in the fabric of the day-to-day. Uh huh, that crojo be hers and there she goes at speeds unheard of, knowing yarn, and much like Bones* when operating at warp speed (imploring Scotty to comment so), but I just grin and dock my awe and let her weave a cap or shawl, so I will wear the fruits of fabric thus assembled, since mojo grabbed her somewhere sweet, with Camelot hands and pulsing fingertips skilled as slow locators. 40 Lines Writer’s Cramp Winner 4-15-16 ______ *Bones refers to Doctor McCoy, (Star Trek), when he was doing brain surgery at a very fast speed due to alien knowledge infused into his brain--but the knowledge only lasted so long. |