War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele


I promised him I’d knit him socks while he was over there. I never did. I knit socks for another. one I loved. one I loved since I was young. I’m told he wears them still.

what colour should I knit?, I asked him. Airborne Blue, he replied. (but that blue was not quite the colour for a man to wear on size 11 feet).

click. click. click. sleek nickel needles. satisfying rounds. a cuff. a length. a heel. a foot. a toe.
I knit and think of Roman mothers, wives, lovers, knitting for their men. their men patrolling Hadrian’s Wall say, or the Antonin. far far from the heat of Italy.

once on sentry at WWx with a young one, a young one now dead, I told the young soldier about how they’d just discovered letters written by young Roman soldiers from Hadrian’s wall home to their mothers. the letters asked for warm clothing, underwear and socks. socks for the freezing frontier of the Roman Empire.

click. click. click. I imagine women home knitting for the boys in the trenches of WWI, WWII Europe.

I promised him socks. I am knitting. he shall get them.

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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled knitting. It was posted here on April 19, 2011.


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