Each summer vacations she would come
winters being her time to cater to aches -
feet, heart, joints and maybe the tired soul;
and so she came each may,loaded with love
and the candies, bitter sweet tales from village -
births, deaths, illness, festivals and gossips too.
but what i awaited was her knitting needles
oh what fun it was to see her spin her magic -
in any color i want ; even in more than one.
the first thing she made was the woollen shoes
one toe and four fingers fused into one space -
perfect to fit the heels when i run without sandal.
Each winter a new pair,its tales told next summer
each year a new foot size,and a new age for her -
And then i stopped wearing those shoes anymore.
not that i did not like them as much as a kid
not that i did not feel the cold trouble my toes -
but i just left it without another thought.
She can not travel each summer any more
and i do not go to meet her as regularly
but my granny still knits – for my kids maybe.
Written for Big Tent Poetry as inspired fromthe image at Referential Magazine.
Also submitted to Months of the year challenge – May
and Sunday Scriblings [May]