A Prose Poem Piece: The Knitting Lesson Poem by Romella Kitchens

If we travel the roads of our minds, we come to events and occurrences which may not ever heal us but will tend to inform us.
We remember so much as we alight from our mental car and feel like sunlit truth on our necks and backs. Sometimes it is a burning, scorching truth.Other times it is mild, reassuring.
When I was a younger woman, I took up knitting. The history of crochet, quilting and knitting as well as other needlework is substantial among African-American women. My mother had taught my sister and I crochet when we were very young. We enjoyed having tea and cookies our mother helping us make scarves, vests, whatever we could produce. We felt loved while learning. Black females, all females in this cold world need to feel loved.
Then as an adult, I wanted to knit as well and to cross stitch. I worked happily and hard at this craft then began to produce adorable sweaters, very cute quirky hats and even totes and and purses but, I felt I needed to learn more so when I saw the ad for a knitting class which only cost $15 a session I was thrilled. I packed up a couple of my sweaters and hopped on the bus and traveled out of my area of Pittsburgh to the beautiful little vine covered shop.
The woman who placed the ad was nice. She chatted with me in the friendliest manner. Then another woman entered the shop as the shop owner looked my work over and showed me a more standard knitting stitch. The other woman railed, ' What is she doing here? 'referring to me, 'You said when you opened the shop a couple of years ago, it would only be for us. No other types of people. Just our community.' I was unnerved by the racism
The shop's owner said: ' Look. I get tired of the same customers all of the time. I placed the ad to make it so anyone who loves knitting can come. Isn't she a wonderful ‘anyone'? Look at her pieces, are they not cute? ' ' Well, yes.' the other woman stuttered, ' But, you promised! You promised! ' ' I am sorry, Romella, ' breathed the shop owner. 'She is behaving very immaturely. The good news is, you knit beautifully. You truly don't need a knitting course. I tell you what. Forget the $15. This session was free. Happy knitting.'
Trembling I grabbed my sweaters, packed them and rushed out the door. I hadn't expected racism. I had expected sisterhood whether the woman were of another race or religion or not.I cried on the bus home. A woman asked me what was wrong that I could not explain. It was a new stitch: a purl and a knit combination I was not very certain of understanding and hoped I never would be certain without fault of completely comprehending.