A Scottish Poem: Mum's Wool Winder

Mum's Wool Winder

Sheltand Wool Winder and Hearth

A Poem by AnnMackieMiller



When wool came in hanks

Mum would use whoever handy

to hold their arms straight

so she could wind hank to ball.

There was a trick to holding it,

a rhythm that shifted you

from right and from left

with a subtle release of the thumb

at just the right time.

Then dad make her the wool winder.

First seen in Shetland I believe

it was just a simple design,

two reels and a ladder

crafted in a workshop haunted by kids.

A quiet man, my father never voiced his love

letting instead the shaping of the wood

and each tender plane and polish

speak for him.

The wool winder sits on my hearth now,

beside a fading photograph

and every day it reminds me

of that other fireside in a family warmed.



All poetry is copyright to AnnMackieMiller