Mum unravels the homespun scarf with the holes

that I had put around her cold shoulders

moths got in

and wool became dust

All flesh is as fabric

strands of wool still quivering

bound together by whirling and twisting

lanoline

sebaceous smell of shearing sheds

stretched as far as it can go without snapping

by hands softened in turn

like Dad’s cable jumper

as comforting and robust as a fat chocolate lab

the label she sewed into the back collar

Don’t say I never knit you anything

these memories are vivid

spinning wheel

clacking loom

pungent boiling

onion skins, gum nuts, crusts of lichen

making an aurora of colours

for our fair isles

Made just for you with love

we saw the southern lights

in the dead of a Dunedin winter

or did we?

if she remembers how to knit

she may make a whole new thing