Knit Lit


In college, I took a poetry writing workshop. During the semester, we had to write poems using various writing techniques working toward presenting a portfolio for our final grade. We had to turn in at least two poems during the class for discussion. One of the poems I turned in was very well received. When my professor asked me to explain it, I couldn’t. I just sat down one day and wrote it in fifteen minutes. He called it a gift poem. I think that is exactly what it is, a gift.

I have started working on a new knitting project. Like the poem, I think this is going to be gift, both literally and figuratively. I have never done anything like this before. However, I feel called to do it. Eventually, it will be given away. I’m not sure I feel comfortable explaining what it is or who it will be going to right now, because it is not about me. Having said that, I am requesting that good thoughts and prayers be sent toward this project and the person it is eventually going to go to. Instead of a picture of the gift-in-the-making, I will share my gift poem with you.

Freud’s Dream

Someone slaps you on the cheek
and melts into the building behind
the rush of suits flooding the sidewalk.
You look up and see a tow-headed boy
floating by, hanging from a banana-shaped balloon
and holding a love-worn teddy bear.
A hummingbird perches on your shoulder
and tells you that a hairless cat
has your house key on a cloud rolling
toward an anaconda farm in Montana.
A butterfly climbs up the streetlight
and sings down tiny drops of rain
that dry the flower boxes on car windows.
You follow the unicolored rainbow
to a coffee shop where you watch
the cashier serve the latte a customer.
Across the street, a greyhound walks
a man on a leash made of chocolate
to a park where cigarettes grow
in well-manicured beds and old men play Nintendo.
Parking meters serenade you
with Sinatra tunes as a bag lady pulls a hundred
from the ATM and hands it to you.
While you watch Ben wave from the bright purple bill,
the Marlboro man pulls you up on his horse
and takes you to his igloo in Texas.

(I know this is unnecessary, but please do not print, yank, copy, reprint, rewrite, sell, or otherwise steal this poem in anyway. If you would like to share it, please link to this post.)


January 25, 2008 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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